


Lines

by say_no_more



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, M/M, Non Graphic Underage Rape/Non-Con heavily implied, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/say_no_more/pseuds/say_no_more
Summary: During the royal visit to Winterfell, Jaime Lannister wandered upon an inebriated King Robert attacking Eddard Stark's bastard son, Jon.Jaime immediately realized why Robert was addressing the boy as Lyanna, and he decided to do something about this new knowledge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this after reading the books, but before watching the show - Jon Snow's true name hadn't been revealed, and I have NO idea why I liked the idea of Jaime/Jon, but this happened, regardless of the why.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

It was the shape of his eyes, Jaime realized. They were the same shape as Lyanna’s. His jaw was something else entirely, along with the tilt of his lips.

“Alright?” Jaime asked.

He didn’t answer, instead turning his gaze to his knees as an angry flush rose on his cheeks and his shoulders began to tremble.

“Would you like for me to kill him?” Jaime asked.

The boy’s eyes flew up to him, now wide and terrified.

“Not for you, then,” Jaime said with a nod. “This one I’ll do for myself.”

Robert hadn’t made it far -- he was only around one turn, at the top of some stairs. He had a hand on the wall to lend him support and balance as he struggled down the first few steps.

It was no difficulty to kill Robert. Jaime didn’t even need to shove him particularly hard. One moment, the man was turning to look at Jaime with blurry eyes, uncomprehending of where he was, when he was, or who he faced, and the next he was tumbling down.

Jaime turned back around the corner just as shouts began going up at the bottom of the stairs. The boy still remained where Jaime had left him, sitting on the floor and leaning against a wall.

“Come on,” Jaime said as he took the boy under the arm and helped him stand. “I won’t have my new squire found sitting and lazing about. He’ll be known as a man of action.”

“Your squire?” the boy numbly repeated.

“That’s right,” Jaime confirmed.

 

* * *

 

“We will be returning to King’s Landing immediately,” Cersei declared to the hall at large.

Eddard Stark solemnly nodded. “I understand, your Grace. And in regards to acting as Hand of the King, I had not formerly accepted Robert’s proposal…”

“Joffrey has declared that his grandfather, Tywin Lannister, will be named Hand as soon as his coronation takes place,” Cersei replied with smug satisfaction, closely watching for Stark’s upset and offense.

There was none to be had, however. For a brief moment, relief overtook the sorrow showing on Eddard Stark’s face. “A fine choice, your Grace,” he told her. “Your father would be a far finer candidate for the position,” he declared before returning to his seat at the high table.

And Eddard Stark wanted nothing to do with Cersei, her children, or any of the Lannisters, Jaime knew.

Turning, Cersei met Jaime’s gaze. “Rally the men and inform them we leave at dawn. When we return to the riverlands, you will ride to Casterly Rock and escort Father to King’s Landing.”

“Actually, dear sister, I intend to ride with our brother to view the Wall,” Jaime announced.

The hall grew still.

“Your place is by the King’s side, as his protector,” Cersei slowly told him.

“Joffrey isn’t King just yet,” Jaime reminded her, and he watched as rage slowly gathered in her eyes. “I think I’ll take advantage of this brief reprieve from my duties and pay my respects to the Night’s Watch. It’s only fitting that the Lannisters offer them some recompense.”

“Recompense for what, exactly?” Benjen Stark called as he slowly stood from his seat at the head table, where he sat next to his brother.

“For stealing one of your recruits, of course,” Jaime told him with a smile. “I intend to give five of my own men to the Watch in exchange for Jon Snow.”

Eddard Stark was standing once again. “My son has been set for the Night’s Watch since he was a young child,” he declared.

“Only because you presented him with no other option, I imagine,” Jaime replied with a pleasant grin. “Now, he is set for me, as my squire.”

“A bastard squire,” Cersei slowly drawled, “is worth five of our men?”

“Five _so far_ ,” Jaime agreed. “I haven’t discussed the matter with all of my men, just yet, so there may be yet a few more volunteers.” He was very careful to remind Cersei that they were, indeed, _his_ men, and not hers or Joffrey’s. The boy was not well loved amongst the gold cloaks.

Cersei, along with several others in the royal party, began to argue loudly even as Benjen Stark joined the fray with the hopes of gaining additional men - well trained, honorable men, instead of the criminals and green boys which were regularly sent to the wall - for the Night’s Watch.

As the din rose louder, Jaime’s eyes met Eddard Stark’s distrustful gaze, and Jaime treated the man with his most handsome smile.

 

* * *

 

Cersei raged and yelled, threatened him - threatened him with _Father_ , as if Jaime had held any fear for the man since they were children.

And when that didn’t work, she kissed him.

It was like magic, the way his love for her had withered and evaporated in a single moment. If Jaime could guess, it was the prospect of feeling hope once again, where no one and nothing had inspired any in him since he was young. Especially not his sister.

She was a fool if she somehow thought that Robert’s death meant that she was free - free to be herself, free to take charge, and free to be with Jaime. She was a naive, preposterous fool.

The next morning, Jaime saw the royal party off with little more than a nod.

Tyrion had joined him in speaking with the men, and between them they’d coaxed fifty men to the Night’s Watch instead of five. The Imp took great fun in the challenge of recruiting men to a fairly useless order of knights, and the brothers had made a game of it between them. Tyrion had always been better with words than Jaime, however, so in this battle Jaime lost. Tyrion recruited four times the number of men as Jaime had.

As Jaime and his brother stood atop the walls and watched the royal procession made their way south on the King's Road, Tyrion said, “You killed him, didn’t you? Robert Baratheon didn’t fall. He was pushed.”

“Aye,” Jaime pleasantly agreed. “He didn’t need much help going down, though. I probably could have blown some air in his direction with the same results. How did you guess?”

“Brother, for the past three days, you’ve been happy. And I don’t mean the sort of happiness you would derive from no longer suffering King Robert, but the sort of happiness you exhibit after winning a battle of some sort. The only battles fought these last days have been battles of words, however, and you hate word battles. So. You killed King Robert. You’ve escaped Cersei’s grasp -- you’ve probably escaped the King’s Guard. Father always hated that you took that oath, and if he arrives at King’s Landing before you, which is certain if you accompany me north to the Wall, Father will ensure that there is no place for you in the King’s Guard upon your arrival in King’s Landing. You’ve gained your independence and secured your freedom in a few short days. And you’ve taken a squire.”

“I have.”

“You, the man who swore he would only make a squire of someone with the potential to outshine the Sword of the Morning… took the bastard son of Eddard Stark, one of the only men in the world you truly hate, as your squire.”

“I hate Eddard Stark, yes,” Jaime agreed, and Tyrion’s eyes went narrow.

“You’ve been in King’s Landing too long, brother,” Tyrion informed him. “You’ve forgotten how to speak plainly with me.”

“It’s not that I’ve forgotten. It’s that other conversations need to occur first,” Jaime corrected.

 

* * *

 

Jon Snow made for a good squire. He had an understanding of his duties, and he didn’t complain about his work, even if his jaw twitched at a command from time to time - he knew a bastard’s place. Even if he was the bastard of a great lord.

“I’ll sharpen the weapons myself,” Jaime told him. “I find the task soothing. My armor needs to be polished, however, and your arms could use training in endurance.”

“Yes, ser,” Snow told him, avoiding Jaime’s eyes as he moved to go about his task.

“What’s this, then?” Jaime asked. “Are you afraid of me?”

“A bit,” the boy admitted, and Jaime basked in the honesty of the statement. Tyrion spoke true - Jaime had forgotten what it was like to speak plainly with people.

“Afraid I’ll push you down some stairs?” Jaime asked.

“You’ve killed two kings,” he quietly murmured in reply as he took oil and cloth and began to polish the boots of Jaime’s armor - smart man, going for the most difficult part of the task first, while his arms were still strong. “What will you do to me if _I_ displease you?”

“Will you do anything like what the Mad King did to your grandfather and uncle? Will you do anything like what Robert did to you?”

The boy looked terrified at the very suggestion, his head whipping around to stare at Jaime with wide eyes. “No!” he insisted.

“Then I don’t think I’d do anything worse to you than treat you with harsh words,” Jaime informed him.

Jon searched Jaime’s face, remaining silent for some time.

“Out with it,” Jaime demanded.

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Offer to kill the king for me?” he clarified, looking baffled.

“He wasn’t really a king,” Jaime informed him. “Not truly. Eddard Stark won over half of the battles for Robert during the war -- the only reason dear Ned doesn’t sit the Iron Throne is because he understands his own power and limitations. Which, when you consider it, makes him more suitable for the throne than Robert ever was. Robert was a shit king.”

“But he _was_ king,” the boy insisted.

“He wasn’t _my_ king,” Jaime informed him. “Robert was so stinking drunk at his coronation that he didn’t realize that I never officially bent the knee to him, did you know? The only reason I remained in the Kingsguard at all was so that my sister would have at least one ally in King’s Landing.”

“But now you’d let her return to Kings Landing without you?” the boy pressed.

“I’ve discovered that my sister is quite capable of committing acts comparable to the Mad King and Robert. And my father will have his hands full with keeping King Joffrey in line. It would be best, probably, to avoid that place for a while.”

Frowning at him a bit more, the boy asked, “If Robert wasn’t a king, and Joffrey isn’t, then Aerys wasn’t either.”

“No.”

“Then who was?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Rhaegar,” Jaime immediately supplied. “He was the greatest man I ever knew. He was the one I joined the Kingsguard for. And then Robert destroyed him out of pettiness and spite. For all of Robert’s flaws, that was the one I held in the highest contempt, I think.”

After a moment, the boy said, “Fine,” and went back to the task at hand.

 

* * *

 

“You killed Robert,” was the greeting he received from Eddard Stark.

“Figured that out, did you?” Jaime asked with a raised brow.

“My boy, Bran, overheard you confess to your brother,” Ned stated. “And now you don’t deny it.”

“Of course not,” Jaime replied.

His expression showing incredulous rage, he said, “Why? You served him for fifteen years and now… Why would you do this?”

“Because Jon Snow isn’t your son,” Jaime replied.

Stark’s complexion lost all color.

Taking a step towards him, Jaime said, “I found them together that night. Robert was so drunk, he thought that the pretty Jon Snow was Leanna. And if how he treated Jon Snow was in any way similar to how he would treat the woman he claimed he loved, you should thank the gods he never got ahold of her.”

Ned’s mouth fell open then snapped closed, the usually proud man looking terrified and betrayed.

“Robert said Lyanna’s name,” Jaime continued, “and when I looked at the boy, I thought that I could understand the drunken fool’s mistake. Jon has her in the shape of his eyes, doesn’t he? So I then looked for her in other parts of him, and I realized that he had more of Leanna in him than he had of you. In fact, I didn’t recognize a thing of you in him. I knew his jaw, though, and his mouth, and his hands.”

Stark’s eyes flickered around the room as if searching for an escape, or a window to push Jaime out of.

“You were the one that named him for Jon Arryn. What did Lyanna name him?” Jaime pressed, stepping closer.

“If you hurt him-”

“I’m not going to hurt him, you fool. I’m going to protect him. Better than you could - or will. You were going to send the rightful King to the fucking Wall, Ned? Really? When Robert Baratheon has been slowly destroying the realm, and when the boy who next sits the throne will do his damned best to finish the job? It’s a fine idea, I suppose, keeping him as far from King’s Landing as possible. My father would see the Targaryen in him the moment he laid eyes on the boy. But the _Wall_? The free cities would be far finer, and a better climate, besides. Dorne, maybe. They’d love him in Dorne.”

“He’s mine,” Stark stated.

“He’s the realm’s,” Jaime corrected. “So? Go on, Ned. Let’s have his name. Have you ever even spoken it aloud?”

“He can’t know-”

“He won’t know,” Jaime promised. “He’s fourteen-years-old. He’s still a child. I’m not so stupid as to give a child such powerful information. Not until he’s grown tired of reckless youth and understands the idea of responsibility. And as he is my responsibility, his name is my right.”

Stark looked as if he wished to further argue -- the poor man had been protecting the boy for fifteen years. It was doubtlessly a difficult habit to break. Stark knew this day would come when the boy was no longer his, but he probably hadn’t expected the day to come so soon.

He doubted that it helped any that Jaime was the one taking the boy away.

Jaime saw the moment Stark resigned himself to the state of affairs. His eyes grew sad. His shoulders slumped. He suddenly seemed an old, ancient man, world worn and weary.

“She named him Jaemon,” he quietly stated.

“Wonderful,” Jaime said with a bright grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon was a good traveling companion. He rode a horse well, he did his part in setting up and breaking down their camps, he chatted amenabley with the other men without partaking in their bawdy and disgraceful humor, and he had a rather fine singing voice, even if he only ever sang soft, quiet songs to fill the silence as they rode.

He stayed close to Jaime and Tyrion for the most part, but sometimes prefered to ride alongside his nuncle.

“How does he measure?” Tyrion asked during one such ride. They watched Snow with his Benjen as the man told the boy some story or another of meeting wildlings beyond the Wall.

“Well enough,” Jaime hummed. “He’s young yet. He’ll grow.”

“By the gods, you love him,” Tyrion realized. “Jaime Lannister, what the hell are you doing? Every time I think I’ve got it figured out, I find some other mad aspect to this puzzle.”

Eyebrows raised, Jaime asked, “What did you have figured?”

“Jon Snow. I figured you took him from Stark because you wanted to hurt the man, not because you had any real thought for the boy. So what, exactly, has that sullen bastard boy done to earn your regard?”

“He’s a fine judge of character,” Jaime told him. “Not nearly so quick to condemn as Ned Stark, and far more pleasant company, besides.”

“A fine judge of character. Not quick to condemn. Brother, what are you on about?” Tyrion asked.

“I’m on about that one,” Jaime replied with a nod towards Jon.

* * *

Benjen Stark looked at Jaime across the dying fire, eyes narrowed. It was very similar to his brother’s look, but less haughty and far more dangerous. Eddard Stark had the honor of a Warden of the North. Benjen Stark had the honor of First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, a far more dangerous and precarious position.

“Your brother, I understand,” Benjen told him. “He’s got his mind, at least, and he’s driven by curiosity and boredom. The more time I spend in your company, however, the more I understand that you are not a man inclined to frivolities. Yet here you are, on a whim, with fifty well trained, blooded, conditioned men, and my nephew. Excuse me if I’m not inclined to believe a single fucking word you say of your excuses for accompanying us North.”

“I forgive you, ser,” Jaime magnanimously allowed.

“I don’t forgive you,” Benjen informed him. “When we get to the Wall, what is to keep me from dragging you Above, slitting your throat, and blaming it on the wildlings? We don’t have any time or tolerance for games at the Wall, and I don’t appreciate you dragging my nephew into whatever your game is.”

“It’s not my game,” Jaime informed him. “It’s Jon’s. I’m simply one of his moving pieces now.”

The man’s eyes narrowed further, and Jaime didn’t doubt the man was a hair’s breadth away from launching himself across the fire and wringing Jaime’s neck. _No tolerance for games, indeed_ , he thought.

“Speak plain,” the man commanded. “For what reason do you head for the Wall?”

“Is Aemon Targaryen still the Maester at Castle Black?” Jaime asked.

Benjen hummed. “I thought the world had forgotten about that man.”

“As killers of Targaryens, my family makes a point of keeping track of those which remain. Maester Aemon is one, correct?”

“You intend to kill him?” Benjen asked, standing.

“I intend nothing so simple as death for him. No, I thought he and his nephew might like to meet and know each other before such a fate as death befell the Maester. He’s over a hundred years old now, isn’t he?”

“His 100th name day is in several... wait… His nephew?”

“Aye. His nephew,” Jaime replied, staring hard at the man.

Benjen’s eyes bore into his own, then flickered to the tent which was shared by Jaime, Tyrion, and Jon.

“That’s right,” Jaime confirmed.

Benjen cursed loud and long.

“Shall I filch some of my brother’s wine, and we can discuss the subject at length?” Jaime suggested.

“His strongest flask,” Benjen agreed.

* * *

Benjen Stark and his fifty new recruits were met with revelry when they arrived at the Night’s Watch -- there hadn’t been such a fine group of men to take the Black in most living memory. Lord Commander Mormont looked upon the lot of them like they were gifts from the gods.

Jaime, as Benjen Stark had judged, was not one to sit idle, and within days of their arrival at Castle Black, he took to assisting Alliser Thorne in the training yard. Jon, too, assisted, as he had more experience with a sword than most of the green boys to attend the Watch.

Jaime wasn’t there for whatever confrontation initially occurred between Jon and Thorne, but he recognized that there was bad blood between the pair. Jaime was gratified, however, when Jon didn’t let the man run him off, instead granting his time and experience to the slower, less apt recruits who Thorne treated with cruelty and dismissal. Jaime judged that three of the boys learned to properly grip and swing a sword under Jon’s tutelage who would have been deemed -- and rendered -- completely useless by Thorne. In another boy, Jon discovered and encouraged a talent for bows and arrow. In another boy… well, Jon taught him to stand up whenever he was knocked down. It was something, at least.

Still, even though Jon exhibited a fondness and talent for actively helping with the men, Jaime often sent him away to treat with Tyrion and Maester Aemon, who had struck up an accord in the library over the books located there.

Aemon enjoyed listening to Jon read, and Tyrion liked that Jon’s reading left him free to take notes. Jon complained that the two men enjoyed the dullest of histories, but never hesitated to take the task when Jaime gave it to him.

Jaime liked the Watch, as well. It had been years since he’d been with proper fighting men. The peace in King’s Landing had made him and his fellows complacent, even though they kept to their practice regularly. It was invigorating to treat with men who were training to fight for survival, rather than notoriety.

* * *

Jaime found himself alone with Aemon Targaryen for the first time a month after he and Jon arrived at Castle Black. He hadn’t been avoiding the man -- Jaime Lannister was no coward. The men of the Night’s Watch, however, had a great deal of love for the Maester, and they seemed to have taken the same idea as Benjen Stark had initially assumed in that Jaime was there to kill the elderly man. They were careful to never give Jaime the opportunity to stand near the man, let alone hold a private conversation.

“Jaime Lannister,” Aemon immediately knew when Jaime came into the room looking for Jon.

“The one,” he allowed, wondering how the man knew him without his eyes.

“Come in, Ser, and have a seat. You can tell me all about how you plan to kill me.”

“I plan to do no such thing, Maester Aemon,” Jaime told him as he accepted the invitation and took one of the chairs.

The man chuckled. “I didn’t believe so, but the men talk of almost nothing else. Your brother and steward think quite highly of you, however. When they are with me, I hear little else but _My brother did this_ and _Ser Jaime says that_.”

Jaime’s eyebrows rose. “My brother and I have always been close. I’m glad to hear it of Jon, however. I find myself constantly seeking his approval.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it, sending him to spend his days with an old man and a dwarf when he’d rather be at swords with the boys in the yard.”

“He’ll appreciate his time with you one day,” Jaime informed him.

“Oh? So you _have_ been throwing him together with me for a reason?” Aemon confirmed.

“I have.”

“And what might that reason be?”

“He’s named for you,” Jaime told him. “Rhaegar and Lyanna felt it fitting that their son be called after a Targaryen who served in an establishment created by the Starks, I immagine.”

The man grew still and silent, his brow drawing into a deep crease. After several long moments, he asked, “The boy has no idea of this, does he?”

“None, Maester Aemon. He is still quite young, and he is still in much danger. More people want the Targaryens erased from the planet than people who even know that there is someone named Jon Snow who exists.”

“I would assume you included in the number who wanted them gone,” the man murmured.

“I loved Rhaegar,” Jaime informed him. “He was not his father, and I mourned him for years after his death. Jon is not his grandfather, either, and I do not intend to have need for mourning him at all.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me of him?” the man asked.

“Was there any real need to do so? Do you like him more or less now than you did an hour ago? Will you approach your interactions with him differently tomorrow than you did yesterday?”

“No,” the man chuckled. “He is still a child, and honestly? I am an old man. If I have been granted time with family, I would spend it in joy, rather than in lecture. Eddard Stark did well in teaching Jon Snow about honor and responsibility, and now you are doing well in showing him the world. I would prefer to show him comfort.”

“As I said -- he will appreciate knowing you,” Jaime agreed.

* * *

“If we stay much longer, we’ll be conscripted for the Watch,” Tyrion informed him. “Or you and Jon will, at least.”

Jaime chuckled. “You may be right. Jon is determined to ride with his nuncle above the wall at least once, however, and Benjen Stark is being very recalcitrant in regards to the matter.”

“For good reason -- the records the previous Maesters kept of the wildlings and their activities are horrifying, at times. And currently, the rangers have begun to tell tales of abandoned wildling settlements, and they say that groups of wildlings who wouldn’t deign to spit on each other if they were on fire have been spotted traveling together. This behavior is startling enough on its own, but it’s moreso now with winter so near.”

Releasing a long sigh, Jaime considered his options.

Maybe Eddard Stark had the right of it, planning Jon for the Wall.

Jaime wished to travel with Jon to Dorne - the Martells would undoubtedly be eager to treat with a Targaryen son.

If they were spotted traveling through the riverlands, however, Tywin would most certainly summon Jaime to King’s Landing, and there would be questions as to the whereabouts of his squire if he attempted to squirrel the boy away in the city. Tywin would see Jaime’s lie with a glance, and he’d recognize Jon as a Targaryen just as quickly.

The free cities were a nice dream, as well. Jaime had always thrived in dangerous situations, and what was more dangerous than surviving in a strange land, with strange traditions, without money or knowledge of the intricacies of the native language?

Jamie suspected that Jon would thrive in such a situation, as well.

Jon was not for the free cities, however. He was for Westeros, and it was the land and tradition and intricacies of Westeros the boy must learn and master. Yet, Westeros was the most dangerous place for him to be.

So yes, maybe Stark had the right idea of sending the boy for the Wall. Jaime wouldn’t let Jon make any oaths to the Night’s Watch, however, and the longer they stayed at Castle Black, the more likely they would be expected to say the words.

With a sigh, Jaime rubbed at his temples. “Put me before a man with a sword any day. Plots and intricacies are not for me. I fear I need your help, brother.”

Tyrion was instantly on alert. “Are you finally going to explain yourself?”

“Aye,” Jaime told him with a sigh. “There’s nothing else for it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jaime, Jon, and Tyrion set south a week latter. They did not ride the King’s Road, however. Instead, they had declared their intentions to do one task more for the Night’s Watch before they rode south, to show their appreciation for the Watch’s hospitality during their stay. The three of them would visit the small communities and villages in the North in search of food and supplies for the Watch.

At this, Jon excelled. Jaime and Tyrion did well enough of talking their ways into people’s homes, but Jon’s Stark looks, his solemn recitation of the Stark words, and his dark eyes as he informed people of the reports the Night’s Watch was bringing back from beyond the Wall ensured that the Watch received whatever meat and grain the people could stand to part with. Jon’s ready offer to assist people with any work around their homes while the trio stayed with them endeared the young man to them, as well.

Unlike in Winterfell, these people didn’t care that Jon was a Snow -- they saw him as a Stark regardless, and the Starks were paramount to royalty in the backwood villages of the North. Jon’s insistence of treating the people with respect and assisting them in hard labor was equal to the King offering to clean latrines to these people.

Before long, Jon had himself quite the little following, with several village people taking up Jon’s task and riding into the hill communities they knew of to call on assistance for the Watch. Several men even agreed to take the black on Jon’s behalf.

“So this is what you killed Robert Baratheon for,” Tyrion muttered one day as they watched the people of one small community say their farewells to Jon. Two of the men were for the Night’s Watch, and they were taking three wagons full of food with them to Castle Black. The elderly mother of one of the men was gifting Jon with a cloak of white fur she had made with the intent of gifting to her son. Jon accepted the gift with genuine gratitude, and he thanked the woman for showing him no ill will for convincing her son to the Watch.

“This is what I killed Robert Baratheon for,” Jaime confirmed.

* * *

As they rode over a hill, they heard screams.

“Wildlings!” Jon instantly knew, urging his horse into a gallop.

Their group had come across two wildlings so far, both of the men on their own and claiming they were foraging below the wall -- Jaime knew the look of a scout, though, and had cut both men down.

This was a whole group of wildlings, however; three dozen at least.

“There shouldn’t be this many!” Jon said as they urged their horses faster and drew nearer to the village which was under attack. “They never travel in such great numbers! It draws too much attention!”

“That’s why they’re slaughtering the villagers,” Jaime reported. “So that word of their numbers doesn’t reach the Night’s Watch. This isn’t a raiding party -- it’s a siege party.”

The wildlings had numbers, but they didn’t have Jaime’s -- or even Jon’s -- quality weapons or skill with what weapons they had. The pair cut through every wildling they met with ease. Jon faltered once, after he drove his sword through a man for the first time in his life, but the scream of another panicked villager fortified the young man, and Jon didn't falter again during the battle.

Jaime wanted to scream himself when Jon dismounted his horse, put the reins in the hands of a villager, and demanded, “Go! Find the Imp to the west of the village and ride with him to Castle Black! Warn the Watch!”

Cursing, Jaime took leave of his own horse to a second villager, and he took Jon’s back in the ensuing melee.

The wildlings had numbers, but they weren’t stupid. When they saw the pair cutting down their people with ease and realized that horses and riders had escaped, they withdrew from their attack on the village and formed rank.

As the villagers, who had been surprised by the attack, took up weapons and formed a rank of their own, Jon and Jaime faced the wildlings.

“You can stop us, but you can’t stop the King Above the Wall!” one of the wildlings called. “He’ll bring his army on the Night’s Watch and we’ll _all_ be to the south!”

“It’s as the men said,” Jon muttered as he looked over the group. “These people are of different tribes. This… King Above the Wall has brought them together.”

“What say you, Jon Snow? Would you like to meet the king?” Jaime asked.

“Someone must,” he allowed.

* * *

They convinced the group to hurry back north of the wall with Jon and Jaime in tow. With Tyrion’s and the villager’s warning, Castle Black would be well prepared for an attack from both sides of the Wall, and if they proceeded with their plan of attack on the castle, their lives would end just as surely as the lives which were ended by Jon and Jaime’s swords that day in the village.

Jon also very helpfully pointed out that holding the Lord of Winterfell’s son as hostage would give the wildlings some sway in any upcoming battle, the little shit.

Traveling with the wildlings was… interesting, to say the least. Jon stuck close to Jaime for the first few days, but after watching the wildlings interact with each other, Jon seemed to gain some understanding of their codes of honor and he grew more confident in his interactions with them. He stopped acting shy about speaking his mind and arguing with them, and even engaged in a fistfight with one man which ended in little more than bloodied noses. Within a fortnight, the young man was even included in the wildling’s hunting parties.

Again, Jaime was not well liked by these people. His sly insults and roundabout ways of arguing set the wildlings on edge, and even when he made oaths and upheld them, the people looked on him with suspicion and questioned his honor.

When they arrived at the king’s camp, Jaime realized the seriousness of the situation. There were fucking _giants_ among the thousands of people gathered, and if he or Jon met danger in this place, they would not find an easy or safe escape.

Jaime also realized that the tales they’d been hearing of White Walkers just may be true, if this many wildlings had come together in an effort to get south of the Wall.

Mance Rayder was certainly an interesting fellow, Jaime found, and he seemed to like Jon. When he was introduced to Jaime, however, the man frowned.

“Kingslayer,” he recognized, and his people present in the tent came to attention at the accusation.

Eyebrows raised, Jaime replied, “I hadn’t realized the politics of King’s Landing were well known above the Wall, let alone my name.”

“Even the freefolk heard tales of the Mad King and his horrors. Although, I used to be a man of the Night’s Watch -- I traveled to Winterfell and met Eddard Stark and his two sons, once. What are you doing with _this_ son of his?”

“He’s my squire,” Jaime informed the man with a grin.

Mance’s eyes slid from Jaime to Jon, then back again. “I heard Ned Stark speak of you, and I find it hard to believe he’d agree to such an arrangement. When he called you Kingslayer, there was no missing his disgust.”

Jaime hummed, “He certainly wasn’t pleased. Especially after I killed the second one. He came around eventually, though.”

“The second - ? Robert Baratheon fell down some stairs while he was drunk,” the man chuckled. “The men of the Watch were having laughs about that for weeks.”

“Fell down some stairs while drunk -- was pushed down some stairs while drunk -- whichever you prefer.”

The man hummed, staring hard at Jaime. “Did you come here to add another to your list, then?”

“That depends - Jon? What say you? Does Mance Rayder seem a king?” Jaime called.

Eyebrows raised, Mance turned his gaze to Jon, whose brows were furrowed. Slowly, Jon said, “The people respect him, even if they don’t love him - they trust him to protect them, and he’s not… He doesn’t seem to be taking advantage of that trust. And if what they say about the White Walkers is true, then he’s doing his best to protect the people and get them to safety, even if that means doing something as mad as throwing themselves against the Wall and the Watch… Aye, I think he seems a king.”

“And what shall we do with him?” Jaime pressed.

Now, the boy looked at Mance, then to the people surrounding them in the tent, then through the tent’s opening towards the thousands of people beyond.

“My father didn’t believe the man which abandoned the Watch who said he’d seen weights, but my father would listen to me. I can ask him to travel to Castle Black and meet with Mance - see if we can’t come up with some sort of accord to allow the freefolk south of the Wall…”

Mance laughed at this, “You honestly believe your father would agree to an accord with the freefolk?”

“You brought all of these people to your side,” Jon pointed out, “and I’m willing to wager that many of them were far less reasonable than my father. You clearly have a talent for negotiating peace. Why stop with peace amongst the freefolk? Treat with my father, and you could get the lot of your people south of the Wall without their having to break themselves on it.”

The man huffed, clearly disbelieving, but even the notion of safe passage south of the Wall was too good to pass up. “We’ll negotiate an accord, then.”

* * *

A contingent of two hundred wildlings accompanied them to the Wall. Mance had one of his wargs -- a man who had been a part of the initial contingent encountered by Jon and Jaime south of the Wall - send a bird with a message to Castle Black, and the warg reported that the message had been received.

Jon Snow would be presented to Lord Commander Mormont to show he was still alive, but Jon would not be released from the wildling’s custody until Eddard Stark was present.

Jon didn’t seem terribly inconvenienced by his experience as a hostage. As they rode south, one of the Thenns took to teaching him the Old Tongue.

“You better warn that boy not to repeat any of what he’s learning to any Thenns he’s meeting for the first time,” Mance warned Jaime. “That one’s only teaching Jon Snow insults - he would be killed before he could get three words out.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jaime sighed.

“I know what a squire is,” Mance told him.

“I hadn’t thought you didn’t.”

“And I know that knights don’t ask their squire’s permission to kill people and then respect their squire’s opinions on the matter,” he finished. “I find it just as odd that Jon Snow respects you in turn. I’ve only been traveling with him three days, and I can see he learned honor from Eddard Stark. I wouldn’t think the boy to have a bit of kind regard for you.”

“And yet he does,” was Jaime’s only reply.

* * *

They had been camped outside the wall for a month when the attack occurred. They had ridden to the gate for what Jaime had taken to calling the head count. Lord Commander Mormont put eyes on Jon to make sure he was still alive, checked that none of the wildlings in their party had wandered off, and gave their party the latest report from Winterfell -- the Stark bannermen of the North were still demanding that Eddard Stark abandon his bastard to the wildlings, but Tyrion had just arrived in Winterfell with a contingent of the northern village and hill people who Jon had met with before being taken above the Wall. On Jon’s behalf, they were pleading with Eddard Stark to answer Jon’s plea and meet with Mance Rayder.

“The people said your honor is above reproach, and that you fought viciously to save them from a wildling attack. They trust that if you would then turn and speak on the wildlings’ behalf, it is because the danger is real,” Mormont solemnly reported across the expanse which divided the wildlings and the Watch. The Crows were gathered close to the gate and in it, ready to retreat if any of the 200 wildlings took so much as a step in their direction.

“It  _is_ real,” Jon declared with faith - he’d spoken to enough wildlings who had encountered weights that he no longer doubted the claims.

“Tell my father-”

They never learned what words Jon wished to use to tempt his father in riding to the wall, because suddenly, the army was upon them.

It was a slaughter, all of the men on horseback, in armor, with quality steel in their hands.

“For fucks sake, run Mance!” Jon cried, attempting to get to the king. Jaime had to lift him off his feet and carry him away while desperately calling for others to follow.

That night, the 20 or so wildlings of the 200 who escaped stood in the forest, covered by darkness, and they watched the Red Woman as she blathered about the true king and lit a fire under Mance, the same way a fire had been lit under Jon Snow’s grandfather.

“What say you, Jon Snow?” Jaime quietly asked. “Is that one a king?”

“No,” Jon replied without pause.

“Are you going to kill him?” Tormund Giantsbane asked, and Jaime remembered that the wildling had been one of those in the tent with them during their first meeting with Mance.

“Aye,” Jon replied, his jaw quivering as Mance’s screams filled the air.

“I’m with you,” Tormund announced.

“With you,” the other wildlings quietly agreed.

Jon walked with strong, sure steps as he descended to where Stannis Baratheon was gathered with his people. The Red Woman let out a yell when she saw Jon.

“The heathens have recognized our right!” she cried, and Jaime realized that she thought that Jon had been released as a hostage.

“You have no right,” was the only thing Jon said before unsheathing his sword and driving it through Stannis Baratheon’s neck.

* * *

In the chaos which occurred after Stannis Baratheon lost his head, Jaime and the wildlings managed to steal horses for themselves.

Jaime would have judged that most of Stannis’ men belonged to the Red Woman, but he found two of Stannis’ men attempting to get revenge for the man and viciously fighting against Jon. As he rode at them, Jaime cut down one of them even as Jon took the other.

“Away!” Jaime demanded, offering his hand and pulling Jon onto the horse with him. “We need to retreat before the woman decides to set any more fires!”

The wildlings, who were getting a taste of revenge of their own, left their attacks when Jon gave the cry, “With me!”

They rode through the night, Jon clinging to Jaime’s back.

“It didn’t make me feel better,” the boy muttered as the group slowed, sure that they had safely escaped from any who attempted to follow them.

“Gods, you really liked that strange old man, didn’t you?” Jaime asked.

“He was a good king,” he replied.

“Aye,” Leboda the Thenn agreed. “But he’s luckier than most -- he’s been avenged.”

“He shouldn’t have died like that. He didn’t deserve it,” Jon seethed.

“No one deserves to die like that,” Jaime hollowly agreed.

When they arrived at the wildling camp a week later, there was outrage at the news of Mance’s death.

“It wasn’t the Watch!” Tormund Giantsbane roared when people started crying about Crows. “It was some blasted man from the far south and his witch! They didn’t even consult with the Watch -- they rode in and started hacking at people!”

“The false king is dead!” Vikta, one of the other wildlings in their party cried. “Jon Snow took his head! Mance Rayder is avenged!”

“Jon Snow!” others cried in agreement.

Jaime watched with wide eyes as the wildlings started arguing about getting south of the Wall. _We can’t do it without Mance. He was going to convince the Starks to let us south_ , some said.

 _Jon Snow suggested the meeting to begin with_.

 _Eddard Stark didn’t agree to meet_.

 _Mormont said Stark wouldn’t ride for the Wall_ -

“He’ll _have_ to ride for the Wall,” Jaime called, interrupting the argument. “Wildlings, the people of Westeros can ignore. Kings being killed on the Wall? That is something they cannot. Eddard Stark will be riding this way soon enough.”

“And we can trust Jon Snow to speak for us?” the one covered in human bones snarled.

“He avenged Mance Rayder!” Vikta replied. “He fought for us and defended us even though by all rights he should want us dead for attacking his people and capturing him!”

“He suggested we speak with Stark in the first place!” Tormund agreed. “Snow could have let thousands of us die attacking Castle Black, and instead he presented us with a safe way through!”

“And Eddard Stark would be more willing to treat with his son than with Mance Rayder,” Jaime put in.

“Jon Snow will stand for Mance as King, then,” Laboda declared.

“Whoa, wait-” Jon said, growing pale.

“With King Snow!” Tormund cried.

“King Snow!” the rest agreed.

“Gods save me,” Snow muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon Snow spent a month meeting with various wildling tribes and hearing their concerns and demands. Some of them would have nothing to do with him,  and he gained a rather handsome scar across his lower lip when one of the more temperamental of the lot attempted to kill him, but for the most part he was able to come to terms with the people. Then, for every wildling that left the camp, two seemed to arrive - news of Jon Snow’s appointment as King Above the Wall had spread, and some wildlings trusted that a Stark son would do better at gaining them safe passage below the Wall better than anyone else, even Mance Rayder.

Jon flourished among the wildlings. Jaime had the right of it in thinking Snow would do well in strange, dangerous situations. Jon lived among the people without judgement (without vocal or public judgement, at least), as he knew they would judge him as a southern bastard boy if he gave them any reason to. He learned to appreciate them for what they were, rather than what he thought they should be (a lesson which Jaime could never fully grasp himself, even as he grew to respect some of the wildlings). He understood their strengths and found ways to compensate for their weaknesses.

The first time Jaime found Jon with his sword drawn against one of the wildlings, Jaime almost threw himself into the melee to ensure that Jon didn’t die at the point of a fucking spear, of all things. But then he realized that Jon was providing the man with practice and training in fighting against castle-forged steel, and it was like they were once again at Castle Black, with Jaime looking on as Jon worked at building up Alliser Thorne’s castoffs. Jon was firm, but forgiving. Then he was playful, but wise. Then he was ferocious, and showing the men what it was like to fight a man with skill driven by the will to live.

Again, Jaime realized that Jon was beautiful.

The cold climes did nothing to help Jaime when it came to this realization. When it was time for sleep and they were huddled in their tent - the great big thing lined with fur and with a constant fire burning at the center, the tent which once belonged to Mance Rayder - Jaime never slept unless he was touching Jon, in some way.

At first, before they had even traveled byond the Wall, it was a gesture of reassurance. Jon was reassured that there was someone beside him willing and able to protect him, and Jaime was assured that Jon existed at all. It was a foot pressed against a shin, or a forearm against a back, or sharing the same breath while not touching at all.

In the frozen land above the Wall, however, it became an act of necessity. Beneath shared furs with their entire bodies pressed against each other and wrapped around each other, every touch became one of survival, rather than comfort.

They slept in the tent with a dozen other people, the wildlings which Jon trusted and favored above all others. The sleeping arrangements changed most nights, with people attempting to find companions which ensured the most warmth and the most rest. There were two things which never changed, however, the first being that Jon was by far the warmest and gave off the most heat, and the second being that even as the wildlings fought to spend a cold night sleeping at his side, Jaime was at his other side. Without question. Always. With Jon.

The heat changed, eventually. Or maybe it didn’t change at all and was only revealed.

Jon was probably having a nightmare, the first time. He’d seen more horror in a few short months than Jaime had seen in three decades.  
Jaime didn’t realize that Jon was having a nightmare, though. He was mostly asleep, himself, but not so much so that dreams had overtaken him. All he really knew was exhaustion, and Jon's warmth, and that he didn’t have the energy for patience or self restraint.

Jon made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his feet slid down against Jaime’s legs, and his back arched.

Jaime tightened his arms around Jon, and Jon sighed, a deep exhalation of breath which pressed him fully against Jaime. Before, his head was under Jaime’s chin, his back against Jaime’s chest, their hips together, and their legs tangled. But that sigh meant that there was more than a press. It meant there was friction.

Jaime hadn’t been dreaming of anything. Not until the friction of Jon’s body against his sent heat through him and made him imagine everything which could be.

Even as Jon calmed and fell still, Jaime’s hand slid down Jon’s back and came to rest against Jon’s soft, fleshy arse -- the only soft thing about the man, anymore. He’d grown in the last two years, and was now nothing more than hard lines and muscle. Jaime didn’t move the rest of the night, and Jon slept well.

Jaime kissed him for the first time several days later, during one of the few moments of privacy which they spent sparing. Jon had successfully disarmed Jaime for the first time, and instead of holding his blade to Jaime’s neck, Jon had shoved Jaime into the snow and taken a turn at wrestling hand to hand - it was a form of brawling which he’d started practicing with the wildlings, who often didn’t have proper weapons to spar with.

Jaime was apt enough in this fight, and the two of them had messed about in the snow for a few minutes, Jon laughing more than hitting or kicking, and Jaime didn’t even try to properly pin him before pressing their mouths together.

As always, Jon was warm, and Jaime found that his lips were soft and pliant, moving gently and curiously against Jaime’s own.

When Jaime pulled away, Jon’s eyes were wide and dark, shining with the closest thing to fear Jaime had seen in him since being named king by a people.

“Alright?” Jaime quietly asked.

“I… Yes? I think so?” he questioned.

“We’d better make sure,” Jaime told him, and moved in for another kiss.

This time, Jon responded with a gasp and a quiet moan, pressing more firmly into Jaime’s lips, then his hands, and then he was in Jaime’s arms and straddling his lap.

“Easy on,” Jaime quietly laughed when Jon began to eagerly press kisses against his chin and neck.

“More,” Jon responded, even though he had no idea what more truly entailed.

“Not when either of us are in danger of losing appendages to the cold,” Jaime told him, making his point by removing a glove behind Jon’s back and sliding his cold fingers under Jon’s furs, pressing it against the skin beneith.

Jon gave an indignant cry at the cold touch and glared at Jaime, but the reminder of where they were and the danger of taking part in such activities in the cold open air seemed to calm him.

“I’ll take plenty more of this, though,” Jaime agreeably offered, and then he went in for another sweet kiss.

After that, his nights spent pressed against Jon certainly didn’t become any easier, not with a dozen other people in the tent with them, but Jaime took great satisfaction in Jon’s warmth and the fact that he was the one Jon shared it with, always.

* * *

They received word of increasingly frequent disappearances, and Jon responded by riding for Hardhome in order to plead with the thirty-five thousand wildlings there in joining him at the Wall.

Most were reluctant, at first. Many had abandoned the camp near the Wall after Mance was declared dead. Others still were people that even Mance Rayder hadn’t convinced in joining with him. The disappearances -- the complete disappearances, whereas before a person would disappear and then reappear as a weight-- had people deeply unsettled, however.

What really did it was the attack.

Jaime had seen battle before, but never like that. He’d only ever fought men, and men were nothing more than human flesh and blood, as alive or potentially dead as Jaime. This was something else entirely, however.

They had heard reports of the weights and White Walkers, but to be attacked by a horde of them was much different than hearing about a thing. Jaime had never experienced such horror in his life, and he had faced death and destruction more times than he could be bothered to remember.

The worst part was hearing Jon scream and realizing that Jaime had lost sight of the man and he hadn’t even noticed, he’d been so scared and desperately fighting for his own life.

He found Jon out of reach, at the bottom of a drop that Jaime wouldn’t survive attempting to jump, facing something that wasn’t a weight but a monster of an entirely different caliber. He watched as Jon lifted himself off of the ground - Jaime couldn’t see his injury, but Jon was sobbing as he clutched at his right hand - he reclaimed his sword, and the thing snapped and broke like a wooden stick when it met the White Walker’s blade.

“Jon!” Jaime called as he desperately attempted to arm the man in any way - his own sword had been lost at some point in the melee. He still had the dagger his father had gifted him with when he’d joined the Kingsguard, however. He threw it down to Jon, and the man scrambled for it, barely dodging one blow, then another, and then finally reaching the dagger, dodging a third blow, and then driving the blade into the White Walker’s side.

The White Walker shattered as if it were made of glass, and a hundred weights fell with it.

“Fire!” Jon called up to where Jaime stood on the edge of an outcropping of rocks he’d climbed in some attempt to reach safety. “Fire destroys them! Tell them to light up the walls!”

Jaime did as commanded, and somehow, they managed to drive the attack back.

When they took an account of their people, they found that thousands were gone.

When Jaime took an accounting of Jon, the man still had tears running down his face even as he called commands to the people to gather their grain and food stores and prepare to march for the Wall.

“Shut up, Jon,” Jaime demanded even as Jon declared that they would protect themselves during the march by setting trees alight on either side of their party and drag burning logs alongside them as they made their way through the icy waste. “Just shut up and show me where you’re hurt. What did it do to you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he replied, scrubbing his hands across his eyes in a poor attempt to hide the evidence of his tears.

“Fuck off. Show me.”

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” Jon insisted. “It doesn’t… I don’t feel…”

It was Tormund who smacked Jon over the head, demanding, “Shut up and let the man see to your wounds.”

There were no wounds to see to, though. At least, nothing which Jaime was capable of wrapping or healing.

He watched on with Tormund and the others as Jon Snow removed his glove.

The White Walker’s blade had nicked him, Jon numbly reported as he revealed his hand. It had hurt, he said, but then just as quickly it stopped hurting, and he didn’t feel anything at all anymore.

Jon’s thumb and forefinger were undamaged, and Jon reported that they retained feeling. His other three fingers were blackened and dead, however, and his bone was showing in those three fingers and the back of his hand, all the way down to his wrist.

“It burned worse than fire,” he numbly told them as he stared at his own hand in horror. “It hurt worse than anything in the entire world.”

As they watched, he flexed his hand, the dead fingers moving just as easily and surely as the living.

“Fuck,” Jon groaned, and he once again began to sob.

No one argued against leaving with him, then.

After the march began, Jon tried to give Jaime his knife back.

“Keep it,” Jaime demanded. “It’s Valyrian steel, and apparently it’s the only weapon which can last against a White Walker. Keep it. I prefer it protect you to decorating my side.”

Jon didn’t appreciate the red and gold pommel of the hilt, Jaime knew, but he kept the dagger, regardless.

Insisting Jon keep it was a decision Jaime later thanked the gods for when their party once again met with weights led by a White Walker.

It was no true force, not like the one at Hardhome. If Jaime could guess, it was a ranging party meant for _recruitment_ purposes. They were no less terrifying than a full force of weights, however.

The wildlings at Hardhome had seen Jon fight, and they had seen him cry after the battle. They saw that he was young, and that he was terrified.

During _this_ attack, they also saw that regardless of how young or terrified he was, he did not hesitate to rush directly at the White Walker and engage with it, defending himself with a burning spear in one hand and the Valyrian steel dagger in the other.

This one, too, was felled by a single stroke of the dagger, and all but a few of the weights fell with it. The wildlings didn’t hesitate to destroy those which remained quickly enough.

When they returned to the wildling encampment near the wall, it was with twenty thousand wildlings who truly loved and respected Jon Snow far more than they ever had Mance Rayder, and who did not pause to announce that Jon Snow was King and they would follow him to hell if he asked them.

If anyone doubted him a king before, no one doubted him after Hardhome.

* * *

After Hardhome, Jon couldn’t sleep alone. Not without dreaming that he was captured by the White Walkers and transformed into freezing dead flesh. Jon was always warm, except during dreams of Hardhome. And dreams of Hardhome were kept at bay by the presence of living flesh against his own.

Jaime didn’t find satisfaction from being the person who could stop the dreams the quickest and most surely after they began. When he returned from a hunting excursion with some of the wildlings one day, Tormund simply told him, “You’d best be next to him every fucking night from here on. That idiot, Hothearth, went out to take a piss and by the time he came back, Snow’s lips were fucking blue.”

When a messenger from the Night’s Watch finally arrived to announce that Eddard Stark was riding to Castle Black along with his banners in force, Jon’s relief was palpable.

They didn’t bother with a contingent when they rode to the Wall this time. Instead, the entirety of the wildlings, all sixty thousand of them, rode along.

“They may very well intend to kill me,” Jon humorlessly reminded Jaime as they rode.

“Not your father,” Jaime insisted.

At Castle Black, Lord Commander Mormont allowed Jon, Jaime, and ten wildlings through the wall and into Castle Black.

“Some of the men are none too happy that this meeting is being allowed to occur,” Mormont warned them before passing through the icy gates. “It’s probably best you have a guard with you.”

As they walked, the Lord Commander looked over Jon with narrowed eyes. Jaime understood why - Jon had been fresh faced and eager upon first arriving at the Night’s Watch, and naive and hopeful when first returning to the wall as Mance Rayder’s hostage. Now, his eyes shown with a hard certainty which hadn’t been present before, and when he met eyes with men, they knew he was taking measure of them and judging their worth (although he’d become very good at hiding his thoughts when he judged a man short). There was a line to his posture that was dangerous -- he had spent almost every free moment in the past several years training and fighting, and it was clear that he was ready and able to spring into action at any given moment. Yet, there was a sorrowful set to his brows which suggested a constant state of terror, belied only by the ferocity in his eyes.

“You really saw something out there, didn’t you?” Mormon quietly confirmed.

“Aye,” Jon said with a nod. “There’s an army of them coming, Lord Commander Mormont. The White Walkers took fifteen thousand at Hardhome, and I’ll raze the Night’s Watch to the ground before I let them take a single soul more from those people out there.”

The statement was given as a promise, rather than a threat, and Mormont met it with silence and a weary expression.

Finally, as they were granted passage to Castle Black, Mormont said, “Maester Aemon has been asking after you. You’ll want to see him. He isn’t well.”

* * *

Maester Aemon was in bed, being tended to by the fat one that Jon had taken a liking to during their first time at Castle Black.

The maester greeted Jon with a gentle hand against his cheek. Running a finger over the scar on Jon’s lip and Jon’s furrowed brow, the man noted, “You’ve grown well, Jon Snow.”

“It doesn’t feel as if I’ve grown at all,” he muttered in reply.

“Ser Jaime is taking good care of you?” the man pressed.

“As well as he can, considering the circumstances. He gave me his Valyrian steel dagger, and it saved my life twice over.”

“And the lives of thousands of others,” Jaime supplied. “It’s done greater service in your hand than it ever did in mine. It suits you.”

Aemon chuckled, and the noise fell into a cough.

“You should rest,” Jon murmured to the man.

“Do you still sing?” Aemon replied. “You used to sing when you were helping replace books in the library.”

Jon actually laughed a bit at this question. “I don’t know if you’d appreciate any of the new songs I’ve learned. There’s an especially riveting tale about a man conquering a giantess and taking her as his wife, only for his four children with her to pull him apart by the arms and legs.”

“You need to stop treating with the Thenns,” Jaime muttered.

“Is it sung in the Old Tongue?” Aemon eagerly questioned.

“Aye, but Laboda says my accent is offensive, and if I keep butchering his language he’ll cut out my tongue,” Jon chuckled, because he had grown inordinately fond of some of the more vicious wildlings.

“Laboda the Thenn is not here,” Aemon told him, “and I’ve never heard the Old Tongue spoken aloud, so I won’t care a whit for your terrible accent, and I won’t understand the terrible song, either. Sing it for me, please.”

Jon did as the man requested, singing in his soft, quiet way for a good hour until the man fell asleep.

“You’re almost all he speaks of anymore,” Tarley informed Jon. “You and his family. You caught him on a good day. I wasn’t sure he’d recognize you. Sometimes he seems to think you’re his father.”

“That’s… unusual,” Jon said with a frown.

Jaime didn’t think so, though. Jon had Rhaegar's jaw, and it was very possible Rhaegar had inherited the shape from Aemon's father.

* * *

In the dining hall, it wasn’t a man of the Watch, but one of the northmen who met Jon first, his eyes hard and his stance set wide.

“I’ve been talking to the man who killed my brother when wildlings attacked my village,” the man announced. “You brought him to Castle Black as one of your guards.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, and Jaime knew that the northman was referring to the warg who had been apart of the party sent over the Wall to attack the Castle from the south.

“He loves you,” the man stated, “even though you killed his friends when you saved the rest of my village.”

Jon’s eyes slid to the warg, who stood at his back and watched the exchange with Tormund at his side. The warg seemed relaxed and unconcerned with Jon’s safety.

“What of it?” Jon finally asked, because he seemed just as uncertain with how this conversation was going as Jaime was.

“I want to see your hand,” the man demanded. “The one which was struck by the blade of a White Walker in Hardhome.”

Jon flinched, his eyes going to Jaime, then sliding around the rest of the hall to the men of the Night’s Watch who were listening intently.

This was clearly the first any of them had heard of Hardhome or Jon’s encounter with a White Walker. Most of them looked on with blatant disbelief as Jon and the northman spoke.

Recognizing their incredulous expressions, Jon sighed and slid the glove from his fingers.

The man looked on with wide, horrified eyes as Jon’s blackened flesh and bare bone was revealed.

“You’re supposed to cut off the dead parts when you get frostbite,” the man stated.

“This isn’t frostbite, and it’s not properly dead,” Jon told him, then he flexed his fingers, the black flesh stretching grotesquely against his bone. “See? Hand me your blade.”

The man hesitated, but then did as Jon commanded.

Jaime had seen Jon perform this particular trick before, but he still flinched when Jon drove the blade through the dead skin between two of the exposed bones in his palm without so much as a twitch of pain.

“This is what the weights are like,” Jon announced. “They’re dead, but they move. You pierce them and cut off their limbs, but they feel no pain and continue their advance. This is what the White Walkers do to whatever living thing they encounter. This is what they’ve made of thousands already, and they’re leading those thousands here.”

The northman took a shaky breath, then declared, “I’ll take the Black, and I’ll consent to wildlings taking residence south of the Wall. On the condition that the men and women who fought to kill my family and neighbors keep at the Wall with me and assist me in rebuilding the nearest Watch tower to my village and then assist me in manning it. They will help protect the people they once attempted to kill, just as Jon Snow has done for them.”

Orell stepped forward, “I stay with Jon Snow, but if your village provides provisions to the freefolk who remain at the Wall, I can convince the others to agree.”

Alliser Thorne was the one who stood. “Do you really expect us to allow those filthy savages through the Wall to take up residence in our castles?”

“Aye,” Jon Snow called. “The Night’s Watch doesn’t have the men to face the coming threat or to man all 19 castles and towers along the Wall. The wildlings, however, _do_ have the numbers, and they have more incentive to fight against the White Walkers than any of you lot.” To Mormont, he declared, “The freefolk will repair and man the Wall at every abandoned outpost - including the Nightfort.”

Another man of the Night’s Watch stood. “If Jon Snow speaks the truth, and if that hand of his is any example of what we are to face, I say we accept all the help we can get. I will accept an accord with the wildlings.”

Mormont looked between his men, to Jon, to the wildlings standing tense and watchful at Jon’s back. Then, with a long sigh, he declared, “When your father and the northmen arrive, I’ll inform them you can be found with your people at the Nightfort -- only men for the Wall will be allowed to pass through the gates just yet, however. I will not unleash the full force of the wildlings upon the North without Eddard Stark’s say.”

Alliser Thorne snorted. “As if the first thing they do when they take their posts won’t be to dig out the tunnels and invite their people through!”

“Eddard Stark will be here before they could manage such an endeavor -- with the full force of the North at his back,” Mormont argued.

“They could easily scatter the wildlings if they like, but I’ll take every man I can for the Wall, first.”

Jon met eyes with the wildlings at his back, held some silent conversation with them, then returned his gaze to Mormont and gave a nod. “For now, that will do.”

* * *

Jon managed to get four thousand wildlings south of the Wall, two thousand of which were for him at the Nightfort. North of the Wall, the wildling forces mirrored Jon’s movements, heading west to the Nightfort rather than remaining camped outside of Castle Black.  
Mormont sent fifty of his men with them -- he insisted that the Men of the Night’s Watch had men present at every tower and post the wildlings held. Jon agreed with the caveat that Alliser Thorne and his like remain at Castle Black. “I can only do so much in regards to ensuring that the wildlings don’t take action against your men when insulted.”

At the Nightfort, Jon didn’t care that fifty men of the Night’s Watch were present -- his first order was to begin thawing out the tunnel through the Wall and clearing it of boulders.

One of the Night’s Watch who accompanied their party, Jon’s nuncle Benjen Stark, reacted to the order with a harried sigh and a hand against his temple. “Jon, the Lord Commander and your father won’t be pleased that you started this endeavor without their consent.”

“Lord Commander Mormont had the right of it - a task of this magnitude could take months. I’m simply treating the situation with optimism,” Jon rejoined.

Regardless of the magnitude, Jon had men at the tunnel around the clock -- on both sides. His giants were rather useful in regards to removing the boulders, it seemed, and when they recut stairs in the ice to the top of the Wall, the men reported that on the northern side of the Wall, the progress in clearing the tunnel was occurring at a much more rapid pace than their own.

The freefolk weren’t much for masonry, but Jaime still remembered watching his father’s efforts in fortifying Casterly Rock during his childhood, and Jon was able to recruit yet more northmen from nearby villages to assist with the task. He’d become rather good at charming people - if he could reach an accord with giants and Thenns, he could reach an accord with anyone, Jaime thought.

Within a fortnight, the castle still wasn’t much to look at, but most of the debris had been cleared away and repairs had begun in earnest. Food and grain shipments were already beginning to arrive, Jaime had taken up training people in the yard, and the castle was brimming with life.

When Ser Davos appeared with what was left of Stannis’ men, Jaime was glad to see that the party was appropriately intimidated by the Nightfort’s forces.

“Where’s your Red Woman?” Jon Snow asked by way of greeting when the seven hundred or so men were led into the Nightfort’s great hall, which was one of the first parts of the castle they had cleaned and fortified. It was one of the warmest places in the castle, second only to Jon’s solar, which Jaime had made a personal project of repairing for the young man.

“We’ve parted ways with the Red Woman,” Ser Davos bitterly replied. “We found her attempting to bring Stannis back to life -- by burning his daughter, Shireen, at the stake.”

Jon’s eyes flickered to the girl, who stood clutching at Davos’ arm with her eyes trained on the ground.

“Her mother?” Jon asked.

“She chose to accompany the Red Woman,” Davos reported. "We believe they've fled for Essos."

“And now you’ve come to pledge yourselves to the Night’s Watch?” Jon asked with raised eyebrows.

“We’ve come to pledge ourselves to you,” the man corrected. “King Snow.”

Jon frowned. “I killed your King Stannis. Why would you wish to support me?”

“The Red Woman brought us north to face the threat from the Others, but she and Stannis allowed their thirst for power to distract them from our true purpose in bringing ourselves into this fight. I loved Stannis, I really did. But the Red Woman corrupted him, and I only remained at his side in an attempt to remind him of himself and see him return to the man I once respected so greatly. As that is now an impossibility, I - we - would return our attention to the true battle. The battle which you have already faced and fought, as people tell it.”

“I am King Above the Wall,” Jon reminded them. “If my father and the northmen reject my presence here, Beyond the Wall is where I will return - to live and fight and die. If you pledge yourselves to me, the same fate would befall you.”

“The Red Woman led Stannis here for the purpose of conquest. Most of these men followed Stannis because they thought they were fighting to protect the realm as a true king would have them do. You have proven yourself dedicated and determined to do just that, so we stand with you.”

“So be it,” Jon allowed.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon was in his solar with Jaime, Davos, Tormund, Laboda, and Orell when the northmen arrived.

Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, and four of the Stark bannermen approached the castle first, leaving their intimidating force behind, and were therefore granted immediate entrance.

“- men experienced with metalworking to the forge,” Jon was saying as the solar’s door opened. “Set them to making axes and two man saws - the burning logs during the march worked well enough in keeping them at bay, and bringing down the wall at Hardhome was just as effective. The more fuel for fire, the better-”

“Jon!” Robb Stark called out as he entered the solar.

Jon was out of his seat and rushing his family in moments. It was probably best that this meeting was occuring in private - Jaime doubted the force of northmen would have appreciated watching the King Above the Wall join in a fierce hug with the Warden of the North. Then, the wildlings wouldn’t have appreciated seeing their King act the boy with his brother.

“Your _face_ ,” Robb mourned, running a thumb across Jon’s lip as if the scar could be wiped away with a bit of effort.

“A wildling tried to make me eat a knife,” Jon responded with a bright grin, clearly overjoyed to see his family. “He apologized for it, after.”

At Jaime’s side, Laboda snorted. Jaime understood the Thenn’s humor - the wildling had apologized after Jon had driven a knife through his leg and threatened to behead him like he had Stannis Baratheon.

“It makes him look more a man rather than some pretty little girl,” Orell supplied.

“Still prettier than either of my daughters,” Tormund stated.

Jon ignored them, as he usually did when the wildlings started japing about his fine appearance. “Are you hungry? We don’t have much by way of food - the freefolk add softened _tree bark_ to everything-”

“Gives the stew texture,” Laboda insisted.

“-but some of the men got the ovens going again, and there’s bread now.”

“Perhaps we should first make introductions,” Eddard Stark suggested, his arm still across Jon’s shoulders as he wearily eyed Jon’s men. Removing his arm, he said, “You know Lord Glover and Lord Karstark, of course. This is Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, and his children, Meera and Jojen.”

“My Lords,” Jon graciously offered. “These are my advisors, Ser Davos Seaworth, Orell, Tormund Giantsbane, Laboda the Thenn, and -”

“Jaime Lannister, _Kingsguard_ ,” Jaime interjected.

“And where’s your crown, boy?” Gallart Glover asked with a sneer.

“Decorating my head with metal seems a poor waste of resources and labor,” Jon flatly replied.

“Why would he need a crown when people already know he’s King?” Laboda agreed with a sneer of his own, as if the concept itself was offensive.

“Stannis wore a crown, and he wasn’t any kind of king,” Tormund added, and Orell spat on the ground at Stannis’ name.

Davos graciously ignored the slight towards the man he once loved - he had agreed, after all, that Stannis deserved no throne in the end.

“If you’re going to water the floor, do it with a scrub brush in hand,” Jon admonished. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Davos? Get those men to work. Tormund, Laboda? Do you think you could start getting those pulleys underway?”

“Aye,” the three men chorused, and they started for the door.

“Should I take a count?” Orell offered. Jon nodded, and the man went to one of the chairs near the fire and settled in.

“Ser Jaime-”

“Kingsguard,” Jaime simply reiterated.

“Right,” Jon replied with another heavy sigh.

With his men otherwise occupied, Jon turned to the northmen and told them, “Come in. Have a seat. We clearly have much to discuss.”

“That one’s not joining us?” Howland Reed asked as they settled around the table.

“He’s taking an account of the army which accompanied you,” Jon informed him.

Karstark snorted. “They’re miles off, yet-”

“Warg,” Jojen Reed quietly stated as he moved to the seat beside Orell. “He’s counting through the eyes of a bird.”

“That’s right,” Jon said simply, his gaze lingering on the other young man for only a moment before moving to take his own seat.

Once they were comfortably seated, Jon started by saying, “So, under what terms will the freefolk be allowed below the Wall?”

* * *

 

The afternoon was long and full of petty arguments from prideful men. Jon remained unmoved in the face of the northmen’s fury and offence.

Eddard Stark attempted to mediate the affair, voicing the northmen’s complaints quietly and gently, but in the end the meaning of the words was unchanged - Wildlings would not be tolerated south of the Wall, not even if they’re at the Wall, manning it.

Howland Reed was strangely silent through the proceedings, simply watching with wide eyes as the great lords of the North argued with a king. His children sat near the fire with Orell, and Jaime eyed the boy as he set a hand against Orell’s arm at one point and closed his eyes. The girl frowned at this gesture, as well, but did nothing to dissuade her brother from the touch.

By the time Vikta interrupted the meeting and announced that it was time for diner, and that they had wasted enough of King Snow’s time that day, Jaime was happy to let her tell Eddard Stark and his men to _Get the fuck out if you’re going to be useless lumps_.

When they were gone, Jon stretched and sighed, murmuring, “That could have gone better.”

“It could have gone worse,” Jaime argued. “They could have tried to kill you.”

“Father wouldn’t let them do that,” Jon stated. “Gods, did you see Robb’s face?”

“It’s been almost two years since he last saw you, and you’ve been fighting a war while he’s _played_ at fighting while safely housed behind a great castle’s walls. He probably thought it seemed a game until he realized that he and his father sat opposite you in the conflict.”

“What a mess,” Jon sighed.

“You have no idea,” Orell suddenly announced.

Looking over to the fire, Jaime blinked when he realized that Howland Reed’s two children, who had been just as silent as their father the entire afternoon, still sat beside the fire.

“The northmen marched here by the thousands, and the people in the northmen’s camp were talking quite a bit, and very loudly,” Orell reported. “They think this kingship of yours is some ploy to amass an army and march south, to the throne there. They don’t think the White Walkers are real.”

“What do you two think?” Jaime asked quietly, eyeing the two interlopers.

“House Reed stands with King Snow,” the boy answered. “I’ve seen the Night King and his army. I’ve seen what they’re capable of and what they’ll do to the world if they aren’t defeated. Greywater Watch is prepared to offer asylum to the freefolk.”

“How do I know what you say is true? How can I trust your word?” Jon asked, brow furrowed.

“He speaks the truth,” Orell insisted. “Something happened when he touched me, Jon. I was able to take control of _dozens_ of birds. He can do things, like me.”

“My father _is_ sympathetic, then,” Jon murmured. “If he brought you and your father to this meeting.”

“Aye,” Meera agreed. “He trusts you. If you say wildlings need to go south, he believes that wildlings need to go south.”

Regardless of Eddard Stark’s sympathies and the pledge of house Reed, negotiations over the following weeks did not proceed smoothly, and the northmen refused to accept wildlings south of the Wall.

The conversation was civil enough, at first, but then the army began to advance, drawing closer and closer every day until thousands of northmen were pressed against the Nightfort’s defenses, watching and waiting for a chance to attack.

“We need to call the other men from the towers along the Wall to help protect and hold the castle,” Tormund stated.

“We can’t afford to endanger our accord with the Night’s Watch,” Jon argued. “And the wildlings posted at those towers are safe - they’re the _only_ ones who are safe at the moment. Knowing that even a few have some chance of safety is one of the only thoughts which brings me comfort and allows me to sleep at night, and in this I _will_ be selfish.”

Later, when Jaime met with Jon’s most loyal and most trusted people, Vikta scowled at Jaime as she said, “ _Protector of the Realm_ , Davos calls him. _Kingsguard_ , you call yourself. So he protects the realm from White Walkers, and you protect him from any who would do him harm. Who protects him from himself? When he throws himself before the enemy every time an attack comes at us-”

“That’s why you named him your King,” Jaime reminded them. “Although, traditionally, there’s more than one Kingsguard to a King. I might be able to protect him from himself, if there were more to protect him from those who would see him harmed.”

Laboda, Tormund, and Orell were the first to stand, as Jaime suspected they would be. “Better Kingsguard than be addressed as his _advisor_ a single time more,” Tormund announced.

“Davos can take the job,” Orell agreed. “I’m with King Snow’s guard.”

“And me,” Vikta insisted. “I’ve been with him from the beginning. I will be with him until the end.”

“Good,” Jaime decided.

* * *

 

It was the middle of the night, and Jaime slept comfortably and deeply next to Jon. At least, he slept until Samwell Tarly burst into their chambers.

“Jon!” he cried. “Jon, we figured out the tunnel through the kitchen! It’s a passage that only the Night’s Watch can open, and it opens into a weirwood clearing north of the Wall - They’ve already barred the passage again-”

Sitting up, Jon blearily demanded, “Spit it out, Sam.”

“-They saw weights! They’re approaching the wildling camp above the Wall-”

Jon was on his feet and pulling on his armor in an instant, Jaime not a step behind.

“Sound the horn,” Jon demanded as he hastily dressed. “Get Davos and Tormund - tell them to add logs to the fires over the grates in the tunnels, pour boiling pitch into them, anything to clear the ice. Jaime, find Laboda and Vikta, get more pitch and torches and meet me in the kitchen. Sam, are the men still there? The men who know the passage?”

“I - yes, but-”

“We’re going back through. We’re setting the trees around the weirwood passage on fire to signal its location. We’ll distract the Others from their advance-”

Jaime was throwing himself through the door, yelling loud enough to wake the castle and crying, “ _To arms!_ ”

“- signal the wildlings north of the Wall to light the forest. Tell them to get all of the giants moving boulders out of the tunnel,” Jon was demanding as he followed Jaime into the hall. Then, “ _Sound the fucking horn!_ ” he bellowed.

The signal went out just as Jaime tore into Laboda’s chambers, throwing clothes at the Thenn and quickly listing off their battle plan before going for Vikta. The trio met Jon in the tunnel, where the wildlings and men of the Night’s Watch were gathering buckets of pitch, torches, and pitch covered arrows to transport down the tunnel.

“ _With King Snow!_ ” they rallied, and even the men of the Night’s Watch who were present joined in the cry.

Through the passage they went, and they emerged north of the Wall to discover that the threat had been discovered just in time, and the weights there were only the beginning of the advance, and not part of the main force.

Still, it was a fierce battle. Men poured out of the passage en force, but the first through were forced to fight, rather than set fires. It was a good few minutes before the weights had been forced back enough that they could set the pitch on the trees and light it, and awhile more before the frozen wood properly caught.

The wildling camp would be better prepared -- Jon’s idea to send axes and saws down the wall to the wildlings so that they could cut trees and form a barrier to burn around the camp in case of an attack was a good one. They’d been at work for weeks -- the view of cleared forest from atop the wall grew greater every day.

The fires they set around the weirwood served their purpose, as well. As the flow of men through the weirwood passage dwindled and their party became overwhelmed, wildlings from the camp appeared at their backs before they could be taken by the Others.

Jon held the line for as long as possible, but was eventually forced to call, “ _Fall back! To the camp fires!_ ”

The wildlings proved themselves fiercely loyal to Jon, then - they hadn’t lit the wall of trees, yet. When Tarley’s raven explaining Jon’s plan of action had reached the men north of the wall, the freefolk decided that they would meet their king and see him safely beyond the barrier before setting it alight.

At the Wall, the people were working furiously to melt the remaining ice and remove boulders from the passage through the Wall. The progress they had made over the previous weeks was greater than the people south of the wall had suspected. Further in, Tormund and Davos were clearly hard at work following Jon’s demands by lighting fires above the tunnle’s grates. The walls were beginning to sweat, and the ice was beginning to melt more rapidly from the boulders, making it easier for their few picks to cut through.

The horn began to sound once again just as they began to hear the noise of the people working from the south side of the Wall.

Jon sent out the demand to reform rank, with all fighting able facing the barrier, and with woman and children gathered at the gate for when the passage was cleared.

They stood facing the fire, waiting.

They didn’t have to wait for as long as they would have liked. Even as most of the fire continued to burn, a section at the center began to smother.

“ _Knock! Draw! Light! Release!”_ Jon called, and the men of the Night’s Watch with pitch covered arrows sent their bolts into the the space beyond the fading flames.

Behind them, a roar went up as the tunnel was cleared, and wildlings began to pour into it.

“ _Kn_ _ock! Draw! Light! Release!_ ” Jon called again, and even as the burning arrows relit the barrier, the flames died just as surly. A figure on horseback began to take shape beyond the flames, and the cold grew worse and the snow thickened.

At their backs, another roar sounded, but this time it was a single voice calling out. “ _Jon Snow, get your arse on the other side of that Wall RIGHT NOW!_ ” Eddard Stark cried.

“ _Knotch! Draw! Light! Release!_ ” Jon answered, even as he turned horrified eyes to watch his father and nuncle approach through the mass of fleeing Wildlings, driving their horses hard. He paused before calling for his father to leave, however. His eyes narrowed, his lips set in a hard line, and he was suddenly running to his family.

“Jon!” Jaime cried. “What are you- _Knotch! Draw! Light! Release!”_

He could see the White Walker making its way through dying embers and ash, his rotting steed looking forward with glowing blue eyes, the fire fading around him even as he cut flaming arrows from the air as they flew towards him.

There was another cry from behind, this one of surprise, and then Jaime was watching in terror as a horse galloped past, Jon Snow riding at the approaching White Walker, great sword drawn. The White Walker took to a gallop of its own, sneering at Jon with the promise of death in its eyes.

They met, and at first Jaime thought that Jon had been cut in half with the swing of the White Walker’s blade, losing his life as the horse he rode lost it’s head. He wasn’t _on_ the horse as the icy blade sliced through it, though. He had launched himself off of the horse, rising above the blade even as the horse fell, and he drove the greatsword he held down into the Other’s skull even as it looked up at him realizing its mistake.

The thing shattered, as Others did when they met with Valyrian steel, and behind the flaming barrier, the enraged screams of a hundred thousand dead went up into the air.

In the next moment, _many_ spots of cold began to appear along the barrier, and Jaime realized that there were _dozens_ of Others approaching.

“ _Through the Wall!_ ’ Jaime called. _“Everybody, NOW!_ ”

He ran forward, rushing to help Jon to his feet after the man fell from his leap. Jaime grabbed the greatsword - Eddard Stark’s, Jaime recognized - and urged Jon into a run.

It was a mad rush through the Wall. The tunnel was wide enough to easily allow a platoon of fifteen wide to march through, but when _thousands_ of people were included in the run, it was a tight fit.

Jon, of course, reclaimed his father’s sword from Jaime, thrusting the Valyrian steel dagger into Jaime’s hands instead, and he stood at the front of the line of men which stood to protect the fleeing masses from the advancing dead.

The barrier’s fire may have been dwindling, but a few of the truly mad wildlings rushed the approaching dead, aiming for the space between the white walkers which were filled with weights, and a few even managed to reach the barrier and rekindle the flames, destroying the weights which followed the White Walkers and ensuring that others couldn’t advance.

It was enough to slow the weight’s approach while the last of the wildlings made it into the tunnel, and then Jon and Jaime were at the gate, as well.

“Jon,” Eddard Stark cried - he had been caught up in the wildling's rush to escape below the Wall after Jon knocked him from his horse, Jaime assumed. He was working like mad reach Jon’s side.

“Jon, come on-”

“They can’t approach further,” Jon realized as he stood at the entrance of the tunnel, looking to where the White Walkers and their weights had formed a line a good distance away. “The Wall - it keeps them away.”

The men stood and watched as the gate fell. They watched as one of the White Walkers took one step further towards them, lifted his hands, and claimed the men and women who had fallen during the battle - thousands of wildlings. People who they had dined with, traveled with, fought with - people who had fought for them, now joining the army of weights.

* * *

 

When the fight rush wore off, Jon collapsed. Jaime wasn’t much better off. He was tired and heartsick, terror still gripped his heart, and it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Stark had to carry Jon the rest of the way through the tunnel and to their chambers in the Nightfort.

The castle was in chaos, wildlings and northmen alike filling the halls and working to establish some kind of order. They stood aside for Eddard Stark and Jon, though.

“When the horn sounded the second time, the northern Lords still didn’t believe its truth and they climbed the Wall to see what was happening,” Davos reported to Jaime when he met them during their journey. “They saw the White Walkers - and everyone heard the screaming dead when Jon cut the Other down.”

“The lords climbed the Wall,” Jaime duly repeated, his eyes turning to the man holding Jon. “But Eddard Stark sat at the gates.”

“Jojen Reed,” Stark stated, looking ahead, his gaze unnervingly flat. “He had a dream - said that Jon had found a way north of the Wall, and that he needed me.”

“Needed your sword,” Jaime corrected. “Valyrian steel is the only weapon that can destroy a White Walker. I gave him my dagger, but he wouldn’t have been able to take the Other on horseback with a dagger.”

“I would have had him run,” Eddard Stark stated.

“Jon isn’t one for running from a fight,” Jaime replied. “Not ever. Davos, inform the people that the White Walkers can’t approach the Wall after a certain point. That should calm them. Have Tarley send ravens to the other strongholds - warn them that the Others are at the Wall.”

“Inform them that any wildlings seeking a way south are given the right to safe passage,” Eddard demanded.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” Ser Davos said.

Stark replied with a hollow laugh. “If I had made my will known weeks ago, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“No,” Davos allowed. “But if you had said so weeks ago, your northmen would have killed you and slaughtered _all_ of the wildlings, instead.”

“We did what we could,” Jaime interjected. “The rest can wait until after a proper rest.”

“Aye. I’ll see to those ravens,” Ser Davos murmured.

In their chambers, Jaime helped Stark get Jon ready for bed. The room was as they had left it, the bed rumpled from their interrupted slumber, the wardrobe in disarray from their rush to dress, and with several candles overturned on the table.

Stark put Jon to bed with an edge of anger to him. “I spent fifteen years protecting him-”

“I thought he’d be safest to the north, as well,” Jaime reminded him.

“-and _this_ is what he does-”

“It’s what he was born to do,” Jaime interrupted again.

“Jon was _not_ meant to face this-”

“ _No one_ is meant to face this,” Jaime snapped. “But Jon was born to lead and protect - those people made him their king _for a reason_ , and it wasn’t because he avenged Mance Rayder for them. They loved him _before_ that, even. He made people love him after he killed their friends and ruined what they thought was their best chance of safety. He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.”

“He’s meant to be on the Iron Throne-”

Jaime snorted. “Jon won’t even wear a crown,” he informed the man. “And he gets restless if he doesn’t move around throughout the day. He’s not capable of sitting still long enough to sit a throne-”

“Ser Jaime,” Stark said slowly. “You… are not aware of the state of affairs in the southern part of the kingdom, are you?”

“We didn’t exactly receive ravens beyond the Wall,” Jaime dryly pointed out. “And Tarley treats the ravens in the Nightfort more as pets than servants - he’s trained them to travel along the Wall and little else.”

“They call your nephew the Mad King Joffrey,” Stark stated. “And Stannis Baratheon wasn’t the only one to make a claim as king. His brother has amassed an army of forty thousand, the Greyjoys have begun raiding again, and I am currently being held in contempt for not traveling to King’s Landing and bending the knee for the boy king. The last raven I received informed me that I would be granted some grace while dealing with my _unruly bastard and his savages_ , but your father is threatening to unseat me as Warden of the North.”

“My father has always been a bit of a cunt,” Jaime informed him. “And quite honestly, I don’t give a fuck about any of them at this point. I will do as Jon bids, and no more. Now get out of here, Stark. Go to bed and we’ll deal with the rest of it later.” 

With that, Jaime began to remove his own armor and prepared for what he  _hoped_ would be the longest and most comfortable sleep of his life.

Blinking, Ned asked, “You sleep in Jon's room?”

“Jon has nightmares about Hardhome and grows cold when he sleeps by himself,” Jaime said flatly. “He rests best in a pile of warm bodies, but he makes due with me when the others are occupied.”

“He grows cold?” Stark slowly repeated, his brow furrowing.

Jaime realized that the man hadn’t seen Jon’s hand as of yet. Jon never took his glove off in the presence of others, not even when sleeping, as the dead flesh unsettled people greatly. Protecting the hand from view had become second nature to Jaime.

He showed Stark now, however. Pulling the glove from Jon’s hand, he explained, “This is the result of his first encounter with a White Walker, and it is one of the reasons he fight’s so fiercely - he has intimate experience with the sensation of dying by their blades, and has made every attempt to keep his people from sharing in the experience.”

Stark's shoulders began to quiver when he saw the hand. “My boy-”

“Go,” Jaime demanded. “Let your son, _Robb_ , see you safely to bed. This one will do for now.”

“Aye,” the man murmured after a moment, and he left.

Jaime retired to bed with a weary sigh, but took comfort in Jon’s living warmth, the way Jon took comfort in the living warmth of others, and Jaime fell into a deep sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, there was no sight of the Others or their army - they had retreated into the hills to the north.

Jon awoke at noon, tired and sad, as he always was after encountering the Others, but he was quickly invigorated when he looked out his solar and found two armies, that of the freefolk and that of the north, sharing tents and fires, thousands and thousands of living people, safely south of the wall and going about their days.

The negotiations began anew that afternoon and lasted several weeks, with much different results.

_These wildlings will go here, those there, this Lord will provide land and shelter for this people, those people will help keep accord along such and such roads-_

_Ser Davos and his ships will sail here, or there, and they’ll bring supplies for glass gardens, so that people will have a supply of food throughout the winter. These men will treat with the Grayjoys in hopes of gaining ships to sail people to safety and-_

_These northmen will join the Night’s Watch, those wildlings will stay and man the Wall._

It was all very productive, if not always civil, but it was more than they had ever hoped for. Jon seemed more and more sure of himself every day, and the longer negotiations occurred, the more the Lords of the North came to treat him with respect.

Then, the ravens came from King’s Landing. They delivered scrolls to every northern lord present, and they all said the same thing.

This was Joffrey and not his father, Jaime knew. His father would never be so _stupid_.

“Tywin Lannister has lost control of the king,” Jaime realized as one of the scrolls was read aloud to them by Tarley.

_King Joffrey, First of his Name, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, King of the Andals, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms does so decree that until he appears in King’s Landing and swears fealty, Eddard Stark is deposed as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Until such time that Eddard Stark and the Lords of the North appear in King’s Landing, Walder Frey will act as Warden of the North. Moreover, if Eddard Stark bends the knee, he will be granted his Lordship. If he wishes to be renamed Warden of the North, he will prove his worth by presenting the rightful King Joffrey with the false bastard king’s head when he appears to bend the knee._

A strange silence filled the hall.

It was one thing for Eddard Stark to be told to deal with his _unruly bastard_ , it was something else entirely to demand the man become a _kinslayer_ for his king. Even if Stark did as Joffrey demanded and killed his son, no man or woman in the north would recognize Eddard Stark as Warden after committing such an atrocity.

Then, Eddard Stark said, “Fuck the Lannisters, fuck the Freys, and fuck Joffrey Baratheon.”

“The lot of them can hang,” Karstark agreed with a snarl.

“No fucking Frey is Warden in the North!” Glover roared.

“Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,” Lyanna Mormont agreed. “And Jon Snow is King.”

A chorus of _Jon Snow, King in the North!_ rang through the hall.

Jon stood. “I - I am responsible for the freefolk, first and foremost-”

“Aye, and every day that passes, it becomes more apparent that the wildlings are going to be part of the north for the foreseeable future,” Lyanna Mormont called. “You’re the only northman here they listen to and respect, and you’re the only person who knows how to negotiate with them.”

“Which is why they named me their king,” Jon allowed. “It is my father who holds the loyalty and respect of the Northern Lords-”

“Which is why he’ll remain Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,” Mormont asserted. “However, you’re the one my men would call to for assistance if we were to have any disagreements with the wildlings which will be residing on Bear Island, and you’re the one they would follow into battle against the White Walkers. You’re the one who’s arranging materials for glass gardens to be carried to our lands, you’re the one who’s ensuring our people’s survival - you’re the one who brought us all together in this place. Because you’re King in the North.”

“ _Jon Snow, King in the North!_ ” was called again, this time with more voices and greater strength.

Jaime set his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “They need you just as much as the freefolk, now,” he told the man. “If you can’t handle that responsibility-”

“She’s right,” Jon murmured as he watched the people in the hall as they grew more insistent. “The wildlings wouldn’t respect my father. He’s been one of the people working to kill their kind for the past three decades. He’s always given support to his brother, First Ranger of the Night’s Watch. Some of the freefolk can work with the Night’s Watch, but most of them can’t. And the Northmen… They’re just as scared of the White Walkers as all the rest, right now, but as long as the Others are above the Wall, and as long as the northmen haven’t lost people to the Others like the freefolk have, they’ll never be as invested in the fight as the freefolk.”

“The northmen need someone on their side who remembers,” Jaime agreed.

As the chant grew louder and more forceful, Jon took a step forward and accepted his responsibility.

* * *

“Keep it,” Eddard Stark demanded when Jon tried to return the Valyrian greatsword, Ice, to him.

“I can barely lift it,” Jon argued.

“You lifted it well enough when you needed to,” Eddard replied. “Now, you just need to practice.”

“Ice has belonged to the Stark’s for generations,” Jon tried.

“And you’re a Stark,” Eddard stated, this tone leaving no room for argument. “Keep Ice, Jon. You wield it well, and it will serve you well in the coming battle.”

“Only with Robb’s permission,” Jon stubbornly insisted. “I will not take his birthright.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Eddard informed his son. “Robb is set on acting as one of your Kingsguard.”

“He’s _what_?” Jon asked. “He can’t give up his Lordship-”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to,” Jaime put in. “Your Kingsguard isn’t exactly _traditional_ , Jon. We appointed _ourselves_ as your guard, where that honor is usually left to the King’s consideration, Laboda didn’t forsake his title with the Thenns, Orell still leads and instructs the other wargs, Vikta hasn’t forsaken her husband, Tormund plans to bring his two daughters with us wherever we go - None of us have actually taken any oaths, Jon. We are simply your Kingsguard.”

“And now that you have been named King in the North, Robb is insisting that he represent the North in your Kingsguard. He missed you when you went away from Winterfell, Jon. And he didn’t react well to our initial negotiations. I had to talk him down from running off to join you and your wildlings at the Nightfort more times than I can count.”

“It would be nice to have my brother with me,” Jon murmured.

“Has he ever even seen a battle?” Jaime suddenly realized.

“Had Jon, before you started dragging him into them?” Stark dryly asked. “I was not lax in training or preparing my children for hardships in their lives, Lannister.”

With a sigh, Jaime declared, “I suppose we can take him - I’m in need of a new squire, and he’ll do well enough until he proves himself capable.”

Eddard Stark gave an aggravated sigh - he didn’t like the idea of his eldest trueborn son squiring for Jaime any more than he liked the idea for Jon. He agreed to present the option to Robb, however, and Jaime knew that the young Stark would agree if it meant he could prove himself capable for his brother.

* * *

There were certain members of the wildling forces that Jon couldn’t leave with the Night’s Watch or assign to any of the great houses or lands. When Jon formally returned control of the Nightfort to the Night’s Watch and departed for Winterfell, those wildlings marched with him.

“I can’t believe you’re a king to _giants_ ,” Robb said to his brother as he watched the giants marching alongside their party, some of them on the backs of mammoths. “The ground must have shook when they bent the knee.”

Jon chuckled. “None of the freefolk have bent the knee, Robb. They named me king because they trust me to protect them and care for them, but they also trust me not ask them to blindly follow my orders. If… Once the White Walkers are dealt with, most intend to return north of the wall and resume living free lives. Acting as King Above the Wall was… an arrangement of convenience, rather than lifelong commitment.”

“Well said,” Orell murmured at their backs.

Blinking from Orell to the northman’s banners which flew with their party, Robb realized, “That’s why you were hesitant to accept rule over the north. Acting as King of the Wildlings isn’t anything at all like being named King in the North.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jon agreed.

“Father will help,” Robb told him with confidence. “The northmen love him as the wildlings love you. He’ll show you how to make the northern lords love you, as well.”

Behind them, Vikta snorted. “Seems they love him plenty enough already. Once the little bear girl is old enough, she’ll be after Jon Snow for marriage.”

“Lyanna Mormont, Queen of the North?” Robb laughed.

“What’s funny?” Vikta asked. “I like her. Fierce little thing with a command over men.”

“Bear Island doesn’t have any great wealth or resources,” Robb argued. “Jon will be expected to marry into one of the families with a large force of men, or a large supply of crops, or _ships_. The Manderlys, perhaps.”

“What’s any of that got to do with the woman?” Vikta pressed.

“Nothing,” Jon stated. “For Lords and Kings, marriage isn’t done because people like or respect each other. It’s done to solidify power and alliances between great houses, and for resources.”

“Forget that sad southern marriage, Jon Snow,” Laboda commanded. “Return with us to Beyond the Wall after we defeat the Others. We’ll find you a nice free woman to take your back in battle and give you good strong babes to care for you when you grow old.”

“When I grow old, I think I’ll retire to Dorne,” Jon revealed. “Jaime says it’s always warm there, and that the people are very spirited.”

“They spend their days fucking and fighting,” Jaime supplied. “All of it in the warm sun.”

Robb chuckled. “You would hate it,” he informed his brother. “You’re for the cold and icy north, Jon. Even during the long summer, you were always happiest in the summer snows.”

“Even your name is Snow,” Vikta agreed. “The north is in you.”

Jaime almost wanted to laugh.

* * *

 When the King of the North marched into Winterfell, it was to a far grander reception than Robert Baratheon had been met with.

The great houses had been gathered in the castle for some time before Eddard Stark took his men to the Wall - they had been gathered for months discussing the threat of wildlings and the King Above the Wall. Most of the Lords had marched north with Eddard, but their wives and families had remained in Winterfell with quite a few soldiers.

When Jon Snow entered the yard, he greeted his family as he’d greeted Robb and Eddard at the Nightfort - he dismounted his horse and ran to meet his youngest sister Arya, who launched herself into his arms. Bran and Rickon were upon him soon enough, and Jon hugged them just as fiercely as the rest.

Jaime was happy to receive a similar greeting from his own brother. Tyrion was more reserved, of course, and didn’t deign to throw himself into Jaime’s arms or other such nonsense, but they clasped arms and informed each other of their relief at the other’s continued survival.

Jaime was surprised when Jon greeted Eddard’s wife and eldest daughter just as warmly as the rest, pressing kisses to the women’s cheeks and playfully tugging on Sansa’s hair. It wasn’t until Sansa responded with an indignant cry and a pinch to Jon’s ear that Jaime understood - His time with the freefolk had conditioned Jon to love and enjoy the company of even those who treated him unkindly. Laboda and Orell insulted Jon just as viciously as they had the first time they’d met him, but they also stood in his Kingsguard and Jon trusted them with his life. The poor man had grown to understand unkindness as _affection_.

After the initial greetings had been dealt with, Jon immediately set to settle in.

Caitlyn informed Jon that new rooms had been prepared for him, in the same hall as the Lord’s chambers. Her expression when she realized that the entirety of Jon’s Kingsguard, along with a dozen others, intended to stay in the room with him was highly amusing, Jaime thought.

“It will only be until other lodgings are established - the castle is quite overwhelmed, it seems. Luckily, our time at the Nightfort has given us experience in repairing derelict castles, so we’ll be able to repair the older areas of Winterfell easily enough.”

“It seems inappropriate,” Sansa murmured.

At this, Jaime plainly laughed in her face. “You think we had castles or private rooms above the Wall? No. Thirty of us slept in a great big pile in a tent. This will be just like old times.”

There were nearly three hundred people crowded into the hall, Lords and Ladies of the north, wildlings, a few men of the Night’s Watch, and a spattering of southmen, the lot of them sitting silent and attentive as they watched Jon and his chief advisors determine their plans for the North.

“The Manderly gold will pay for the supplies to build glass gardens,” Jon decided. “And their ships will deliver the supplies to the North. The first four gardens will be built at strongholds at the Wall, but every major stronghold and keep in the North will have one, as well. Winterfell will have three, along with the existing garden. In the depths of winter, and in the event that White Walkers overcome the Wall, Winterfell will take all and any.”

“What will we do for the people at the Wall, to ensure the White Walkers don’t make it south?” Tormund Giantsbane asked.

“Fire,” Jon announced. “We will supply them with as much pitch as any of the towers can hold. Flaming arrows, catapults to fling anything that burns…”

He ran a hand over his eyes, showing his frustration.

“What is it?” Eddard asked.

“Fire does well enough against the weights, but it’s the White Walkers we need to destroy. Their cold is so great, they’re capable of dampening flames. Unless we can find something that burns hotter or more surely than pitch, the only defense we have against the Others is Valyrian steel.”

Jaime blinked. “There _is_ something which burns hotter and more surely than pitch,” he announced. “Wildfire. Once it begins to burn, there is nothing which can extinguish it.”

Tyrion laughed. “Are there any who still have the knowledge of creating wildfire? Shall we write to father or King Joffrey and ask that they lend us any able pyromancers in King’s Landing to build us a supply?”

“The pyromancers capable of creating wildfire were killed when Robert’s Rebellion overtook King’s Landing,” Eddard Stark announced with a hard frown.

“That doesn’t mean that none have become capable in the seventeen years since,” Ser Davos pointed out.

“It’s not the pyromancers we need,” Jaime informed them. “It’s the supply of wildfire which _already exists_.”

“Where is this supply?” Jon asked.

“In King’s Landing,” Jaime stated.

“ _Where_ in King’s Landing?” Tyrion pressed. “It’s a rather large city.”

“Aye. And the Mad King worked to ensure that if he lost his throne, the city would be lost, as well,” Jaime announced.

“What are you saying?” Tyrion slowly asked.

“There are hundreds and thousands of barrels and jars of wildfire beneath the city,” Jaime stated. “Under the Sept of Baelor, the dragonpits, the gates, under the street of steel and fishmonger’s square, under every whorehouse in Flea Bottom, and under the Red Keep.”

Tyrion was looking at him in horror. “We lived in King’s Landing for over a decade, and we were sitting on enough wildfire to destroy the entire city?”

“Aye,” Jaime agreed.

“There are almost a million people in the city, Jaime! Why wouldn’t you _tell_ anyone?!” Tyrion cried.

“Who? Who would I tell? Robert Baratheon, who was so busy drinking and hunting that he left matters of the kingdom to people like Maester Pycelle and Petyr Baelish? The pyromancers that Robert _didn’t_ have killed, who are most often just as mad as King Eares was? _Father?_ Do you have any idea what our father would do with all that wildfire? It wouldn’t have been long before _The Rains of Castamere_ was considered a _happy and merry_ tale of his conquest!”

“Fine!” Tyrion snapped. “Fine! But we have to get it out of there-”

“Why do you think I’ve told Jon Snow of it?!” Jaime snapped back. “ _He_ won’t use it to burn down any cities!”

“No,” Jon agreed, interjecting himself into the conversation. “I’d use it to destroy the White Walkers and their army of weights. But wildfire doesn’t help us if it’s in King’s Landing, and we have no way to get to it. Tyrion’s right. Joffrey would never let anyone from the north into the city.”

Tyrion hummed, the sound rumbling from deep in his throat, and Jaime immediately recognized it as the sound his brother made when he had an idea.

“No one from the north, no. But they might allow Jaime and I into the city. Has anyone written south that Jaime and I are involved in any of what has occurred these last years?”

“They know I took Jon Snow as my squire and traveled to the Wall with him,” Jaime pointed out.

“Aye, but I traveled there, as well. I got separated from Jon Snow when we were attacked by wildlings south of the Wall,” Tyrion said slowly. “Who’s to say you didn’t, as well? I certainly haven’t written anyone with any explanation to our whereabouts or status, except for a raven I sent to father requesting aid for the Night’s Watch shortly after we arrived at Castle Black. Have you?”

“No,” Jaime allowed.

“Has anyone else?” Tyrion called out to the people gathered with them.

They were met with a resounding _No_.

“Why would we invite Tywin Lannister’s army to come north in search for his sons?” someone muttered.

“So then… if we were to appear in King’s Landing, no one would have any reason to believe otherwise if we said that we had to fight our way past wildlings, and then northmen, to get to White Harbor and board a ship-”

“King’s Landing isn’t taking ships from the north,” Lord Manderly reminded them.

“But is Dorne?” Tyrion replied. “Only days ago we received an announcement stating that one of the sons of Dorne is to marry the Princess Myrcella. The two are quite in love, it would seem.”

“Your plots are giving me a headache, Tyrion,” Jon Snow sighed. “I don’t understand - if there’s to be a marriage between Lannister and Martell, why would the Dornish be inclined to provide any assistance to us?”

“It’s a love match, I said,” Tyrion stated. “My father does not arrange _love matches_ , and he despises the Martells. He would never consent to such a union. It is my belief that the Dornish may have taken Myrcella hostage at some point, and this _love match_ is their way of keeping the Lannister army from marching into Dorne and razzing it to the ground in an attempt to get the princess back. My father can’t dispute the match, however, because Joffrey has already lost the North and a good portion of the Reach. If he loses Dorne, as well, high houses everywhere will begin decrying Joffrey and pledging to either Jon Snow or Renly Baratheon.”

“ _And?”_ Jon pressed.

“And the Martells hate the Lannisters just as much as the Lannisters hate them. This marriage is their way of stealing a Lannister child as surely as the Lannisters have stolen children from them.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyrion, I still don’t see why any of this would endear me to any Dornishmen,” Jon snapped. “Out with it.”

“The Martells hate the Lannisters because they loved Rhaegar Targaryen,” Tyrion stated. “They arranged Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia Martell because they wanted him, not the connection to the crown the marriage would ensure, but him.”

“You should sit down, Tyrion,” Eddard Stark announced.

“Why?” Tyrion asked. “What does it matter anymore? Joffrey has already called for Jon Snow’s head, and Jon Snow is King, regardless. We need to get into King’s Landing, and Dorne can help us. They’ll _want_ to help us.”

“Not now, Tyrion,” Jaime ground out.

“Why not?” Tyrion repeated.

“Because _not now, Tyrion_ ,” Jaime snapped.

“He’s ruler of the entire fucking north, Jaime,” Tyrion snapped back. “He’s killed kings and fought battles and destroyed White Walkers. He can take care of himself! He doesn’t _need_ for you to protect him any longer.”

Eddard Stark stood from his chair, “Jon, with me,” he commanded. “Jaime-”

“Right,” Jaime said, standing from his own place and making his way towards Tyrion.

Jon stood. “Father, are you going to explain-”

“He’s not your father!” Tyrion called out before Jaime could reach him. “And you’re not a Snow!”

Instead of putting a hand over Tyrion’s mouth, Jaime delivered a firm smack to his brother’s head.

“I - Excuse me?” Jon stuttered as murmuring started throughout the hall.

“Eddard Stark claimed you as his bastard after he found out what my father had done to Elia Martell and her children,” Tyrion announced, and the hall once again fell silent. “He did it to protect you, because he loved his sister and you’re her son.”

Jon looked to Eddard Stark with wide eyes.

After a heavy pause, Stark slowly informed Jon, “Rhaegar and Ellia’s marriage was annulled. She was going to remarry some southern man she was in love with, and Rhaegar married my sister.”

“But he kidnapped her,” Jon argued.

“He didn’t. She ran away with him. When I found her, she informed me she left a note explaining what had happened, but the letter was never discovered, and Rhaegar had already fallen by the time I reached her. They named you after Rhaegar’s nuncle in the Night’s Watch.”

“Aemon?” Jon asked, looking lost.

“Jaemon,” Stark corrected. “And Jon, because… Jon Arryn hid the marriage contract and your birth announcement at his castle in the Eerie when he agreed to assist me in protecting you.”

“Ah,” Jon said. “Right. Of course. I’ll just… I think I’ll go for a walk.”

As Jon turned and started for the doors, his footsteps were the only sound in the otherwise silent hall. Every eye was on him, but he didn’t meet any man's eye as he passed them by. The moment the doors shut behind him, the hall fell into chaos.

“You little fool!” Jaime cried, hitting his brother again. “You couldn’t let Stark tell him in _private_?!”

“We’ll just go keep an eye on him, then,” Vikta announced as she and Jon's other Kingsguard stood to follow after the man.

Catelyn Stark was _screaming_ at Eddard, by this point, even as she started to cry. “ _Seventeen years, you let me believe you had been disloyal to me!_ ”

“Are you happy with yourself, then?” Jaime snarled at Tyrion.

“Quite,” he muttered, even as he rubbed at his beaten head. “Honestly, Jaime - if he’d been told in private, and then we’d had some sort of announcement made - no one would have believed it, you idiot. The lords and men would have thought it was some sort of plot for the Iron Throne. Do you think anyone doubts the legitimacy of these claims as things stand now?”

No. Of course not. Jon’s shocked, terrified expression at the news, the betrayal in his eyes, the hurt - Catelyn Stark’s screaming, Jaime’s attack on his brother, Eddard Stark apologizing with every breath he took -

“You hurt him,” Jaime accused. “This _farce_ hurt him.”

“He would have been hurt regardless of how he was told. And as I said, _he can take care of himself_. He’ll be fine. I don’t even doubt that he’ll forgive the lot of us for this sorry mess.”

Jaime scrubbed his hands across his face and sighed.

* * *

 “He hasn’t moved in hours,” Tormund told Jaime. “His royal balls are going to freeze and fall off if he doesn’t get inside, and it’s my understanding that you rich southern folk find those more valuable than sharpened steel.”

“Where is he?” Jaime asked.

“The godswood,” Tormund directed.

Sure enough, Jon was sitting on the cold ground before the weirwood, snow all around him. Vikta and Orell stood at the edge of the trees, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm. They made a hasty retreat when Jaime nodded for them to do so.

As Jaime lowered himself to the ground beside him, Jon said, “Just last night, Arya asked me if it was possible for a king to legitimize _himself_. The Starks were kings in the north for thousands of years, and it was only fitting that a Stark be King in the North this time, as well.”

“You are a Stark,” Jaime informed him.

“Is it possible for a king to legitimize himself to a different house?” Jon wondered.

At this, Jaime laughed, moving to drape his arm over Jon’s shoulder. “If so, people would be changing their families all the time.”

“Which would you go to?” Jon dryly asked, leaning into Jaime’s side.

“Giantsbane,” Jaime instantly replied. “Tormund would make a fine brother, I think. Far better than the one the gods have currently cursed me with.”

Jon grew sullen again. “My father told you and your brother-”

“I figured it out for myself, and _I_ told my brother,” Jaime corrected. “I needed his help devising a way to keep you in the north and away from my father in King’s Landing without getting the lot of us conscripted to the Night’s Watch. Fat lot of good that did - we ended up getting pulled into an entirely different kind of war.”

“How did _you_ figure it out?” Jon asked. “No one else even suspected.”

“No one from the north saw him regularly enough to clearly remember the cut of him. You have the Stark coloring, but you have Rhaegar’s lines.”

“Who else knew?” Jon asked.

“Only the people I told. Your uncle Benjen. Your great-uncle Aemon.”

“Maester Aemon… he knew?”

“Aye. When Samwell Tarley said that the man sometimes thought you were his father… I thought that you and Rhaegar must have inherited his lines, as well.”

“A Targaryen,” Jon laughed, somewhat bitterly. “I have Targaryen lines.”

“They’re quite handsome lines,” Jaime informed him.

“Fuck off,” he demanded. Then, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Go to Dorne, apparently,” Jaime replied.

“Your brother’s a cunt,” Jon murmured. The words were without heat, however, and Jaime knew that his brother was right - Jon would forgive the lot of them for this.


	7. Chapter 7

Arya _insisted_ on traveling to Dorne with them because she was tired of being left out of her brother’s adventures. Eddard Stark agreed to let her sail because she had begun sneaking out of the castle to _climb giants_  as she called it when she rode around on their shoulders while they patrolled the borders of their camp outside Winterfell.

Sansa was accompanying them because she and Catelyn had been in earshot when several wildlings were japing about carrying the eldest Stark girl off, and the women had thought the wildlings serious (in truth, the wildlings didn’t trust that Sansa would survive outside of a castle’s walls).

Then, since the girls were sailing and Robb too, Catelyn sailed, as well.

They made for a very interesting party: a king, three highborn ladies, Sir Davos, a host of Manderly men, a bunch of wildlings, and a dwarf.

“This sounds like the beginning of a bawdy song,” Tyrion muttered.

“It won’t be _bawdy_ ,” Arya Stark argued from Tyrion’s other side. She was standing up on the ship’s rail, and Tyrion had a handful of the girl's cloak fisted in his hand in an attempt to keep her from tipping over the side of the ship as it rocked in the waves. The youngest Stark girl had proven herself a connoisseur of the odd, and was immediately drawn towards anything she deemed interesting. As such, she hadn’t left Tyrion’s side once in the three days since they’d set sail.

Tyrion had been put out, at first - he always was when people singled him out for his dwarfism, even though he had built a fine armor around his heart to hide it. After a few short minutes together, however, the girl seemed to forget he was a dwarf at all, and now pestered him constantly with questions. It was clear that she valued his mind and vast knowledge of tragic historical events above all else. The girl loved a good horror story, and Tyrion kept her entertained with them for hours. Tyrion, in turn, had rather grown to love the attention the girl paid him. Most people thought him _a funny little thing_ when he was being intelligent, but Arya though he was a _viciously funny thing_ and encouraged him in his plots.

“It will be a very bawdy song,” Tyrion informed the girl now. “It will end with half of us in a Dornish whorehouse and the other half of us devoured by Sand Snakes.”

“Are Sand Snakes like dragons without arms or legs?” was her response.

Sighing, Jaime took the girl under her arms and lowered her to the deck. “Go climb the masts,” he commanded her. “If you fall into the ocean, Jon will likely be the one to go in after you, and then we’d be gone a King _and_ a Stark.”

“I don’t need rescuing, and if I did, Tyrion would go in after me,” she argued.

“Tyrion couldn’t lift you, even in the water. Then, Jon and I _both_ would have to go into the ocean for a rescue, and we’d be gone a King, a Stark, and two Lannisters.”

“I don’t need rescuing!” the girl said again, this time kicking at his shin. The outburst probably hurt her more than him, as he was wearing his armor, but her point was made.

“Sir Jaime, stop harassing my sister!” Jon called as he came down from the upper deck.

“Cousin,” Jaime corrected. “And how does it seem that I am harassing her when _I_ am the one being kicked in the shins?”

“Arya only kicks people in the shins when they’re calling her weak, stupid, or a lady. Which are you guilty of?”

“He thinks I can’t swim!” Arya accused.

“What were you doing that would give him _need_ to question your ability to swim?” Jon asked with narrowed eyes.

Now, she kicked Jon in the shin. He was _not_ wearing armor, but was apparently used to getting kicked by the Stark girl because he didn’t so much as flinch before lightly smacking the back of her head as she tried to run off.

“Which one are you guilty of, then?” Jaime asked.

“Questioning her intelligence. She never appreciates being caught out for bad behavior - thinks she’s too sly for anyone to catch her,” he laughed.

Jon soon sobered, however, when he glanced at the distant shore and saw how quickly the ship was moving away from land.

“A plan has been established, then?” Tyrion guessed upon registering Jon’s troubled expression.

“Aye,” he said. “Lady Catelyn and Sansa are for the Vale under the guise of escaping Eddard Stark’s bastard son who has taken over the north. Apparently Lady Catelyn’s sister is fond of great tales and of people who have experienced great danger and harrowing journeys. Sir Davos has an acquaintance of his flying under Pentoshi sails, and after spending a few weeks under the Lady Arryn's protection, Lady Catelyn and Sansa will board the ship claiming an escape for the Free Cities. Instead of going east, the ship will carry them to Dorne where they will meet us - hopefully with the scrolls proving my legitimacy in hand.”

“Lord Eddard has an idea of where they were kept?” Tyrion asked.

“Aye. He was able to give Lady Stark detailed instructions. Catelyn doubts the rooms are as they once were when Jon Arryn lived and ruled the Vale, however, so the search may be more difficult than anticipated.”

“Lady Stark is resourceful,” Tyrion stated. “She’ll see the task completed.”

“Even if the task _is_ completed, who’s to say the Martells will welcome me to their halls in the time it takes Lady Catelyn to uncover the scrolls?” Jon pressed.

“They will welcome you for the simple fact that you oppose King Joffrey,” Tyrion assured him. “It is my brother and I who have cause to worry. The Martells are not fond of Lannisters. I’m surprised they’re allowing one to marry into their family, regardless of how sweet Myrcella might be.”

With a long sigh, Jon said, “If there weren’t White Walkers above the wall, I would abandon these plots and go back to the place where when someone wanted to kill you, they only attempted to bash your head in with a rock.”

“You’re a man of simple taste, Jon Snow,” Tyrion replied. “I like that about you.” 

* * *

 

The Martels quite liked Jon, as well.

Upon arriving in Dorne, their party was greeted warmly.

The King in the North was presented under the name Jon Snow, rather than his true name, and as Tyrion suspected, the Martells welcomed a man who was in open rebellion against King Joffrey and the Lannisters.

It helped that Jaime and Tyrion disguised themselves so that it wasn’t immediately obvious that two Lannisters were included in the party.

They were given rooms in the palace, and clothing appropriate for the warm climes. Jon wore Dornish silk _splendidly_ , and he cut an opposing figure wearing a Dornish robe styled in Winterfell's colors with Ice slung across his back.

Then, for the dinner welcoming them to Dorne, their party was taken to a bright, airy hall to meet the Martells and their… guests.

“This eve, I have the honor of presenting Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Elia, nephew of the Dragon Queen, and the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms,” Oberyn Martell announced with a smug grin.

Aegon was a Targaryen through and through, with silver hair, violet eyes, and slim features. And his _jaw_.

“Aegon Targaryen was killed as a babe,” Jon slowly responded as he stared at the man, a couple of years older than himself, who rose from his seat to greet them.

“Another babe was placed in my cradle and I was stolen to safety. One of my father's men raised me in the Free Cities. Upon coming of age and proving myself fit and able, I went before my aunt, the Dragon Queen, and she sent me forth to Westeros to gather forces and prepare for her arrival.”

In response to this statement, Jon said nothing, instead staring at the young man standing across from him, a man who was his true brother, apparently.

As Jon’s silence lingered and became heavy, Arya suddenly said, “Jon, I don’t care if that idiot  _is_ your brother. You were our brother first and he can’t have you!”

“What in the seven hells are you on about, girl?” Oberyn Martell asked.

“Arya, quiet,” Jon demanded, but his command came too late, and his low tone did nothing to temper the young girl's indignant rage.

“It seems awfully convenient that Father _finally_ tells us that Jon’s not a bastard, but that he's a Targaryen in truth, and now  _this person_  shows up claiming to be Jon's brother. But Jon’s _my_ brother, and you can’t have him!”

“Here, here,” Robb muttered from his place standing at Jaime’s back.

“You expect us to believe this farce?” one of the Dornishmen cried out from his place in the galley.

Stepping forward, Tyrion quickly began to explain, “It’s the truth - Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen were married in secret during the war, and after , Eddard Stark protected his sister’s son with the help of Jon Arryn. Catelyn Stark is in the Vale, as we speak, retrieving the Targaryen scrolls detailing the marriage between Lyanna and Rhaegar and the birth of their son.”

From the gallery, a quiet voice called out, “Uncle Tyrion?” and all hell broke loose.

* * *

For the next few days, there was much intense arguing. Aegon, the older son of Rhaegar, positioned that he was the rightful king, both by birth and by decree of his aunt, the Dragon Queen. Then, upon realizing that not only Tyrion Lannister was in the northmen’s party, but the Kingslayer as well, the Dornish began to call for Jaime’s head. It was only because of interference from the wildlings that Jaime and Tyrion weren’t put in chains and left to the mercy of Oberyn's Sand Snakes.

The first day of arguing was ended by Laboda the Thenn when he declared, “Jon Snow is King, and I’ll be damned if I ever follow a warm weather warrior like _you_ into battle. You wouldn’t survive a single damn day in the cold or ice, so as far as me and mine are concerned, you’re already dead!”

The second day of arguing was ended by Robb when he hotly declared, “The wildlings would never follow or respect you, and the North needs a king who can keep the peace. Our people would be _destroyed_ under your rule!”

The third day of arguing was ended by Jon himself when he faced his brother and yelled, “Damn the Iron Throne! Blast it to the seventh pit of hell! You can _have_ it!”

Standing, Oberyn Martell reminded Jon, “You came here to ask me and my people for assistance in laying siege upon King’s Landing, and now you claim you don’t want the Iron Throne?”

“Lay siege - we’re not _laying siege_ upon King’s Landing,” Jon insisted. “We came to beg your assistance in sneaking into the city so that we could steal supplies from them, not _rule_ them. This isn’t a siege party, it’s a smuggling party!”

“You wish to steal supplies? Did it not occur to you to ask _our_ assistance with providing supplies for your people?” Oberyn dryly asked, his tone patronizing.

“All the food and grain in the world wouldn’t keep our people alive against the threat we fight,” Jon stated. “It’s fire we need, and fire we will _get_. With your help or without it, I will protect my people.”

Slowly, Jaime stepped forward. “I didn’t kill King Aerys for my father, or for Robert Baratheon. I also had no idea what my father intended for Ellia or her children. But even if I had known… it wouldn’t have changed what I did.”

A roar went through the Dornishmen at this, and Jaime had to wait for several long moments before the din quieted and he was able to speak again.

“If the Mad King Aerys had had his way, it wouldn’t have mattered what my father may or may not have intended for Ellia - she and her children -child- would have died just as surely and just as violently, regardless. They would have died along with every other person in the city. The Mad King had his pyromancers make more wildfire than anyone thought possible, and he had them place hundreds and thousands of casks of the stuff throughout King’s Landing. I killed Aerys Targaryen after he ordered me to light the casks and set the entire city to flames. I made my choice, and I stand by it. And now, I lead Jaemon Targaryen, King of the North, to the city to _remove_ the wildfire from where it still endangers the people of King's Landing. I lead Jaemon Targaryen to remove it from the city, and to remove it from where _my father_ might still stumble across the lot of it and take control of it for himself. Tell me - does it really _matter_ if Jon Snow is in truth Jaemon Targaryen? Would you rather this man be in control of the power inherent of possessing enough wildfire to destroy a city and kill a million people, or would you prefer Tywin Lannister?”

The arguing about legitimate claims and the right to rule hadn’t seemed too interesting to the people of Dorne (they had Aegon Targaryen after all, and Oberyn had made it clear that Dorne would be putting their support behind Aegon with or without proof of Jon's legitimacy), but _this_ certainly caught their attention.


	8. Chapter 8

Jon, Tyrion, and Oberyn were hashing out the details of how they were going to sneak Jon and his northmen into King’s Landing, and Jamie took the opportunity to speak with Myrcella, who was understandably distressed by the situation. After all, it was her wedding they intended to use as an excuse to get into the city.

“What is your opinion of Jaemon?” Jaime asked the girl as they walked through the lush gardens of Sunspear together. The girl had turned into a woman since Jaime had last seen her. He enjoyed seeing her so beautiful, and in love, and happy.

She seemed troubled by his question, however.

“He’s… he’s very loyal to his people,” Myrcella carefully answered.

“And?” Jaime pressed.

“And they clearly love him dearly,” she added.

“ _And_?” Jaime urged, at which point Myrcella stopped walking.

“He’s been very kind to _me_ ,” Myrcella informed him. “He doesn’t speak ill of our family in my presence, and has given no indication that he wishes to harm me in any way. He reprimanded his cousin when she was saying horrible things to me, and he makes sure that I’m never left alone with those… brutes he traveled here with. He has been very _kind_ to me, despite the fact that he has every reason to want me dead. Uncle Jaime, please don’t do this. Can’t you… can’t you convince Jaemon to return to Winterfell?”

“Are you _worried_ about him?” Jaime asked. “Myrcella, Jon is a fighter, tried and true. Although, if our plan goes as it’s supposed to, it won’t come to a fight.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Myrcella at all. “Please, Uncle Jaime. I won’t tell Mother or Joffrey that Jaemon was ever here. Jon doesn’t deserve this-”

“Doesn’t deserve what?” Jaime asked, now baffled by the conversation.

“He doesn’t deserve to be handed to Joffrey! I know you’ve been in the north, so you haven’t heard… Joffrey does terrible things to the people who oppose him. If you’re going to kill Jaemon, at least allow him to die with some _dignity_. He’s a good person.”

“Why in the world would you think I wanted to _kill_ Jon?” Jaime asked.

“Because… Haven’t you and Tyrion devised this farce in order to hand him over to King Joffrey?” Myrcella slowly asked.

With a slow, deep breath, Jaime began to explain. “Joffrey was never meant to be King. You know that, don’t you Myrcella?”

“What do you mean? He’s father's first born son.”

“The first born son of Robert Baratheon, who _also_ was never meant to be King.”

“Uncle Jaime, how could you say something like that? You were his Kingsguard.”

“Aye. And then I killed him.”

Myrcella’s eyes widened at this. “You… You killed my father?” she asked, her lower lip quivering.

“That’s right,” Jaime told her. “Because Jaemon Targaryen is king. He was _born_ for it, and he is _wonderful_ at it. He is so much a king that he was named as such when the people who bent the knee for him still thought he was a nameless bastard. I have killed for him, and I will die for him if I must. And when we ride into King’s Landing… Myrcella, if he gets a chance to kill Joffrey, he won’t hesitate. He won’t hesitate, and I won’t stop him. By the grace of the seven, no such loss will occur on the eve of your wedding - Jon will never share the same air as any of our family, if I have any say in the matter. But you need to understand - Jon is King, and I will do anything and everything in my power to ensure his safety and success.”

“Oh,” Myrcella breathed after a moment. Jamie saw the young woman’s mouth twitch, an indication that she wanted to chew at her bottom lip as she considered this information, but she had been reminded that _princesses do not do anything so undignified as biting themselves_ often enough that she would never dare do anything of the sort in view of other people.

“Can I trust you with that knowledge?” Jaime pressed after they had walked in silence for some time.

Myrcella had been quiet for a very long time as emotions flickered across her face. She still held Jaime’s arm, polite and gentle to the last, even after learning that her uncle had killed her father, truly considering the question before answering. Finally, she told him, “When we get to King’s Landing, I won’t speak a word of him.”

“Good woman,” Jaime told her with a smile.

They spent several months in Dorne while the Martells arranged to travel to King’s Landing for the wedding between Myrcella and Trystane, and while they waited for Catelyn and Sansa to arrive in Dorne with the scrolls which would validate Jaemon Targaryen’s existence.

Jaime wasn’t surprised when Jon became quick friends with Oberyn Martell. Jon had spent _years_ with Jaime and Tyrion Lannister, so when the Dornishman turned his sharp wit and tongue towards Jon, Jon barely blinked at what most people would interpret as harsh criticism of their character.

It helped that the two men held similar attitudes toward women. The Dornishman had many daughters and he encouraged their independence and strength, and he was delighted to find that Jon had a woman in his King’s Guard. Oberyn was also delighted when Jon requested that Arya train with the man’s bastard daughters.

Jon’s relationship with Aegon was a little more complicated. The older Targaryen son had apparently been raised in the Free Cities, with people whispering to him that he was destined to be the king of all Westeros one day.

The Martells welcomed Aegon easily enough, but he was not _of_ Westeros, and it was obvious. At meals, when stories and gossip was traded, Aegon was unfamiliar with most of the people his companions spoke of, and he had no knowledge of any minor events or squabbles which had happened in Westeros while he was on the other side of the Narrow Sea, and what news he _had_ heard was often greatly exaggerated and badly told.

Jon, meanwhile, engaged in playful banter with Dornishmen in which he praised Winterfell and the North and japed about how his home was far greater than Dorne, but without actually insulting the Dornishmen or their land. Jon was capable of knowing which of the songs he knew would be heard favorably by the people in Dorne and which ones were better sung Beyond the Wall. He was able to strategize and offer well-informed suggestions on how the Martells should proceed against Tywin Lannister and Renly Baratheon, and he was careful not to make unreasonable requests or demands of their hosts.

Then, Prince Doran arrived in court.

He’d been informed of Aegon’s presence, but he and his advisors were dubious of Jon’s claims. At least, the Prince was dubious of Jon’s claims until he overheard one of the knights teaching Jon a traditional Rhoynish song, and Prince Doran commented on Jon’s voice by stating, “You sound exactly like Rhaegar when you sing.”

* * *

Dorne was very generous in regards to providing quarters and amenities to kings and potential Targaryens.

Jon was given rooms near the gardens, and the climate was so warm that the freefolk who had accompanied them found the idea of huddling close together at night nauseating, therefore they gladly accepted their own cool quarters instead of piling into Jon’s rooms.

The place was large and airy, with tall windows lining every wall and thin drapes to close over them. The bedsheets, the table linens, the window coverings, their clothes - the fabric was all light, smooth, and vibrantly colorful. Dorne was nothing like Winterfell, where the stone walls were thick, the windows small and easily barred against icy storms, and no one would survive unless they were wrapped head to toe in thick leather and furs.

“I didn’t know there was this much color in the world,” Jon murmured as he looked out over the gardens one morning.

Jaime hadn’t realized that he had grown accustomed to the cold. After spending several years in the north and beyond the Wall, he hadn’t believed the cold would ever leave him.

He’d also forgotten what it was like to sit alone, in quiet.

Jaime was never alone, of course - a (good) kingsguard (who was overly protective and possessive of his king) never was. Ever since being named King, however, Jon was constantly in the company of no less than four other people, most of them arguing or talking over each other all the time - Jon’s closest companions were very _spirited_ , to say the least. Now, however, with the northmen exploring Sunspear and very few crisis for Jon to address from day to day, the pair sat in a comfortable silence for some time in the afternoon or evenings, either reading or playing games of _cyvasse_.

Their first night in Dorne was strange. Jon and Jaime wore too many clothes to bed, out of habit, and the pair hardly received any sleep at all from the heat (although Jon claimed it was Jaime’s restlessness which kept him awake). The next morning, when they met with the rest of Jon’s guard for breakfast, Tormund told them, “We couldn’t find any shuteye without the dulcet tones of the Lannister’s snoring to lull us to sleep.”

“It was your farting we missed,” Jaime replied.

Jon and Jaime truly missed the gentle breathing and sleep sounds of their friends and people, the instant knowledge that everyone was there, alive, and safe.

But they adapted.

* * *

“Shouldn’t _you_ be doing this for _me_?” Jon wryly asked as he ran a gentle cloth over Jaime’s chest while he took a cool bath before preparing for the night. Jaime had discovered that washing away the heat at the end of the day was one of the only ways he could find sleep.

“I suppose,” Jaime contently hummed as Jon worked at helping him clean as he lazily reclined in the bath. “I sometimes miss the days before you were informed of your birthright, and you acted as my squire,” Jaime informed him.

“I never helped you bathe when I was your squire,” Jon pointed out.

“Only because baths weren’t to be had. Even the hottest water froze between coming off the fire and being poured into a basin.”

Jon reminded him, “You have another squire now. Perhaps I should fetch Robb-”

Giving Jon a lecherous look, Jaime said, “Jon, you scoundrel. You would ask your cousin, who is like a brother to you, to join us in-”

Jon threw the wash rag in Jaime’s face as he laughed.

* * *

Jon never seemed to mind the heat. Jaime assumed it was because of the Targaryen in him. He missed the constant company of his people, however, and he could only fall to sleep if Jaime were running his fingers through Jon’s hair or over Jon’s back.

If there was any reason for Jaime to love Dorne, it was this - He and Jon had _never_ been allowed moments like this in Winterfell, where they were able to lie with each other in quiet and comfort, without fear of chill or attack or any of the other twenty people sleeping in the space with them growing jealous or offended with the attention the two men gave to each other.

It was in Dorne that Jaime learned how it felt to have Jon draped over his chest so that he could feel the younger man’s heart beat against his own. It was in Dorne that the pair of them were given a chance to rest and breathe without fear.

It was also in Dorne which Jaime first glimpsed one of his favorite parts of Jon - the vulnerable part of Jon. The young man couldn’t falter in his resolution when a dozen angry, desperate, confused people were looking to him every moment of every day, looking for guidance and security and direction.

Once they were in Dorne, away from any immediate conflict which might result in panic, war, and the death of thousands, Jon voiced his fears to Jaime as they laid in bed at night. He talked about how he wasn’t sure he was right to let the wildlings south of the Wall, into Winterfell, or even to accompany him to Dorne. He talked of the guilt he felt for pulling his family into his conflicts to the point that his brother was willing to abandon his seat and namesake, and that Lady Catelyn felt unsafe in her own home because Jon’s wildlings were swarming Winterfell’s castle. He told Jaime that he didn’t _want_ to be a Targaryen, because he felt the name came with either a stigma which he dreaded having attached to him in any way or a level of expectation which he felt incapable of facing with honor and dignity.

Jaime found the man’s worries and complaints endearing. Jaime thought they were completely unfounded, of course, but Jaime liked the reminder that Jon didn’t think himself infallible. The previous kings he’d served had either believed themselves incapable of being wrong, or they relished in their shortcomings and rubbed them in Jaime’s face because there was nothing he could do about it (they thought).

Jon, though… he never questioned for a single moment whether or not he was infallible. Jon knew perfectly well that he was only human, but also had the strength to persevere despite his limitations.

And Jaime… well, Jaime got to be there and comfort Jon when he needed it.

For all the ways Jaime had cared for and protected Jon in the past, this one was new, and Jaime found that it was also one of his favorites.

Therefore, during their time in Dorne, Jaime fell asleep after Jon, and sometimes he awoke before Jon, and he always took advantage of the opportunity to provide Jon with comfort. After all, Jaime wasn’t sure when his next opportunity to treat Jon with such care would occur once they departed from Dorne.

* * *

Aegon did his damned best to upset Jon, to make others see him in an unfavorable light, and to encourage Jon in making mistakes.

Aegon wasn’t successful, of course. Jon didn’t have a vain bone in his body, except when it came to his hair, so he didn’t even blink when Aegon made japes about his Stark looks or the scar on his lip. For all that Jon was a king, he wasn’t power hungry, he didn’t have the time or the patience for flattery or arse-kissing, and he always listened with intent and patience when his people argued against him, so Aegon’s attempts at creating discord amongst the people fell short, as well.

Then, when Aegon challenged Jon’s skill with a sword, Jon whipped Aegon black and blue with a torney sword while Jon offered Aegon encouragement and corrected his form the entire time.

Aegon was not of Westeros, not really, and he was always a bit out of place in court, but he _was_ a fighter. Jon was better, but then Jon had spent years training to fight in some of the harshest environments in the world, and Jon had faced more than his share of true battle and sharpened steel. As soon as Aegon recognized that Jon was the stronger and more skilled fighter of them, he stopped working against Jon and began working to better himself. It wasn’t long until the two young men were in the training grounds together almost every day, practicing with swords and spears and bows (Aegon _was_ a better shot than Jon, at least).

Then, Catelyn and Sansa arrived in Dorne.

Aegon hadn’t stood a chance.

* * *

As soon as word arrived that his aunt and cousin had arrived in Sunspear, Jon hurried to meet them along with his kingsguard, Arya, Oberyn Martell, and Aegon.

“Your journey was safe?” was how Jon greeted the two women, while Jaime greeted them by asking, “Did you find the scrolls?”

Most of their group - the men visiting Dorne from northern houses - were surprised by the warmth which the two women greeted Jon with. They folded him into their arms for quick, tight embraces, placing kisses on his cheeks.

More shocking, however, was that Sansas gave her sister, Arya, a similarly warm greeting.

“Aunt Lysa was _horrible_ ,” Sansa immediately began to tell her younger sister. “She didn’t care for her house or family at all, only for herself and her son. Arya, she was still feeding him from her own breast- he’s older than Bran!”

Solemnly, Catelyn informed Jon, “My sister is resolute in remaining uninvolved in any sort of conflict. Her time with Jon Arryn in King’s Landing changed her, your highness. She is… terrified. She is unsympathetic towards the plight or suffering of any other than her own, and she will support no one except for herself or the lords of the Vale. She was even recalcitrant in lending any assistance to me or my daughter. We were forced to search the castle ourselves, under the cover of darkness, to avoid her suspicion. Our cause will find no aid from the Vale. And Sansa, Arya, if either of you _ever_ behave with such _dishonor_ towards one another, gods have mercy upon you because the Seven know I will _not_.”

Jon was quick to offer further comfort to the woman, pulling her into another embrace as he began to say, “I’m sorry, Lady Catelyn. Your sister-”

“The _scrolls_ ,” Jaime insisted. Because if those didn’t exist, if there was no evidence of Jon’s legitimacy, then-

“It took us some time to find which room the records were stored in, but once we determined how Jon Arryn ran his household before my sister took charge, we found the scrolls in the exact place Eddard said they would be,” Catelyn announced as she stepped away from Jon and began to reach into her satchel. “They appeared to have gone untouched since they were hidden.”

Jaime watched as two scrolls were withdrawn from the satchel and handed to Jon.

“What parchment is this?” Jon quietly wondered as he accepted the scrolls from the woman, his fingers caressing the parchment even as he unrolled them.

“Dragon skin parchment,” Oberyn breathed as he stared hungrily at the scrolls. “When their dragons died, the Targaryens used every part of their bodies. The Targaryens use this parchment sparingly - _only_ for proclamations of the utmost importance. Marriages and births. The ink is made of the dragon’s blood, and the scrolls are nearly impossible to destroy.”

Upon revealing the scrolls, a marriage and birth announcement were exactly what was written out, as promised.

Jon ran his fingers over his mother’s signature on the scroll dictating the royal marriage, written in dragon’s blood, then his Targaryen father’s. On his birth announcement, Jon ran his fingers over Eddard Stark’s signature as witness, then Jon Arryn’s.

“Which means the scrolls are also quite easy to prove legitimate,” Prince Oberyn stated before snatching the scrolls from Jon.

Jon watched in amusement, unconcerned with the validity of his claim one way or the other - Jon Snow was King in the North, after all, regardless of his parentage.

Robb, in Jon’s kingsguard, made a low sound in his throat as Prince Oberyn dipped the two scrolls into a nearby sconce and held them in the flame for several long moments.

When the parchment was withdrawn, it was whole and unaffected by the flames.

Laughing, Oberyn declared, “We ought to have a feast to commemorate the youngest Targaryen, I think.The celebration is long overdue.”

 

* * *

The Martells had supplied Jon with silk robes in Stark colors before, but now they insisted on presenting him to Sunspear in Targaryen colors.

“Are you growing ill?” Vitka asked while Jon was being fitted in gold robes. Frowning, the woman pressed the back of her hand to Jon’s forehead and chin, then declared, “Your skin isn’t unusually warm…”

“Perhaps gold is not your color,” the seamstress informed Jon.

“Looking at this silk is like looking into the sun,” Jon informed the woman, his lips set in a frown. “Truly, I can wear the blue robes which have already been fashioned-”

“You’ll wear violet,” the woman sternly declared.

“You’ll match your brother’s eyes,” Robb said from where he was sulking across the room.

“Aegon will be _your_ brother soon enough,” Tyrion reminded Robb, “if the way he’s been trailing after Sansa is any indication.”

Jon fidgeted a bit, _displeased_ at the reminder that Aegon had been accompanying Sansa on walks in the gardens almost every morning since her arrival. While Jon and Aegon had grown to know each other, Jon didn’t yet trust his brother with the woman he thought of as his sister. When Sansas had spent the entirety of dinner the evening before extolling Aegon’s virtues and retelling stories of all of the distant and exotic places Aegon had visited, Jon had started muttering about how Aegon didn’t have a seat, or land, and only a handful of men under his command.

“Only _you_ would believe that a Targaryen prince isn’t _good enough_ for your sister,” Tyrion told Jon with a laugh. “If you are so set against sitting the Iron Throne, it’s likely Aegon will one day sit it with Sansa at his side.”

“Sansa won’t live in King’s Landing,” Robb informed Jaime’s brother. “Not after she saw what the place did to our Aunt Lysa.”

“The Dragon Queen is to sit the Iron Throne,” the seamstress informed them with authority. “She is gathering her armies in preparation to sail to Westeros. Prince Aegon was sent ahead in order to weaken the power of the Lords of Westeros. She promised Prince Aegon a seat in either Storm’s End, Casterly Rock, or Winterfell upon conquering Westeros.”

Jaime raised his eyes at the woman when he realized that the people of Sunspear had been privy to information which had not been shared with their party.

“Aegon will sit in the north over my dead body,” Tormund grumbled.

“Have no worries, friend,” Prince Obyron demanded with a grin as he entered the chambers. “Intentions change.”

“Oh?” Jon asked the man as he finished removing the gold silk which he would _not_ be wearing for the feast.

“Of course. Prince Doran’s son, Trystane, will take the seat at Casterly Rock after he marries Myrcella and Tywin Lannister along with the rest of his family are removed from power-”

“Jaime may be for Jon Snow, but Tywin Lannister has _two_ sons,” Tyrion dryly reminded the Martell.

“Aye, but while Casterly rock will be secure under the leadership of you _or_ Trystane after the marriage, Storm’s End will _not_ be secure, and you would be far more suited to the task of bringing the Stormlands to their knees than my nephew would,” Prince Oberyn reminded the imp.

“And Aegon?” Robb asked.

“Aegon will take his seat here, in Sunstone,” Prince Oberyn declared. “With Prince Doran’s son controlling Casterly Rock, and the other dead by dragon’s flame… Prince Aegon is the only other legitimate child of Dorne. While Trystane may belong with Myrcella, Prince Aegon belongs here, with his family.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed at Oberyn when he realized that the man was shamelessly watching Jon’s form as the seamstress draped various fabrics over the King's shoulders. The woman seemed to be favoring the lennin now, instead of the silk. The purple of the dyed linen was vibrant, but Jaime much prefered the purple silk, which was rich and warm, and far better suited to Jon’s complexion and dark features.

Prince Oberyn seemed to prefer Jon without any cloth at all.

“I say you remain fixed on your first path, Jon,” Jaime declared.

“And which path would that be?” Jon hummed.

“The one which has you beyond the Wall,” Jaime responded, “Where there are no politics and only men who wish to bash your head in with rocks, and where no one cares of seats or marriage.”

The seamstress startled at this, seeming distressed by the very idea, but Jon let out a delighted laugh. “I thought I was to retire to Dorne, Jaime, where everyone spends their time fighting and fucking?”

Oberyn gave a great laugh at this, crying, “Well spoken!” as his speculative gaze slid from Jon to Jaime.

Jaime met the Dornishman’s gaze and graced him with a scowl as Oberyn’s lips tilted into a knowing leer.


End file.
